The Refracted Image
by Dizzydodo
Summary: Mirrorverse AU. Jim and Bones couldn't be any more different if they were the sun and moon, but they share the same burdens in a world gone mad, and that makes all the difference.
1. Judgment

Warning: I am _not_ kidding about this being mirrorverse. It has a happy ending, and it is a McKirk romance, but it will also include violence and dubious morality galore.

The first couple chapters are the most brutal and deserve their own tags, so here goes: Copious use of profanity, implied child abuse, on-screen murder/ death of a few minor characters, a brief scene of attempted rape, and off-screen torture.

Also, while I will be using some parts of the pagan calendar, this fic does not in any way reflect reality. Like everything else in the mirror universe, this too is hopelessly twisted.

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_It is a most mortifying reflection for a man to consider what he has done, compared to what he might have done.- Samuel Johnson._

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Leonard was nine years old when he first realized there might be something wrong with him. It began with a girl- later his father would tell him that such was always the case- at the time, Leonard knew only that she was a girl, that she was hurt, and that he felt compelled to help her.

He found her behind the hedgerow on the side of the road as he made his way home from another day of school. Today they had learned of the Imperial Empress' grand plan for the support of Terran interests on foreign worlds and the fate of those that had chosen to resist her Just Rule; Leonard had dutifully repeated the phrases quoted at him and cheered at all the appropriate moments. He didn't like to think of the students who hadn't.

For now all he knew was that he was late for supper, and father would be angry if his routine was disrupted. Having been on the receiving end of a backhanded slap more than once, Leonard was rushing home at full tilt when he heard the quiet sobbing behind the hedge.

He tried to ignore it at first, running past with nary a break in stride, but even twenty feet down the road and counting those quiet sobs still echoed in his ears; he found his feet turning back with no conscious effort of his own.

The Girl recoiled when he pushed the bushes aside and crouched, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand while the other held him steady.

"What're you crying for?" Enunciate, mama always said, but he wasn't home just now and no one would tell her if he spoke normally for a bit.

Leonard was terribly confused when she began crying even harder, curling away from him and back into what shade the foliage afforded her. Looking closer, he could see angry red scrapes on her knees and bare feet peeking out from beneath a standard-issue gray dress. She was at most a couple years younger, with fly-away hair and red eyes and skin too pale to have seen much sunlight.

"Hey, why are you cryin'?" It couldn't be those little cuts; even at her age The Girl should know better than to cry for such minor nuisances.

Her voice was choked with tears and hoarse with weeping when she spoke again. "Th-they took him. My puppy."

Awkwardly, Leonard reached out to pat her shoulder gently but she recoiled as though struck. "Who took him?"

She sniffed, wiping her eyes on a dirty sleeve. "The other girls. They said if I can't look after him then I can't keep him." And she was crying again.

Leonard tilted his head curiously; "Are you going to take him back?"

"No." She sniffed.

"Then stop cryin' about it. Your cuts are dirty too; you should wash before you go home." If he had ever dared show up at his own front door as ragged and dusty as this girl he'd be whipped for certain.

"Come home with me. You c'n clean up there." He wasn't at all certain of that, but he smiled anyway because it seemed like the kind thing to do.

The shock on her face should have been his first warning, and in years to come Leonard would curse himself for that novice mistake, but at the time all he wanted was to stop the girl's tears so she wasn't punished for them; he had seen enough suffering that day.

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David McCoy was waiting when they reached the porch, and Leonard knew from the stink that this would be one of the bad days; he'd been at his bottle again.

"Where th'hell have you been? Your mother's been holding supper for your lazy ass. Get insi-" His father trailed off, craning to look at the girl behind him; he could feel her tense like a rabbit caught in a wolf's gimleted sights. Even then Leonard knew better than to show his fear like that, but he didn't dare take his eyes from his father for a moment to tell her so.

"Get inside, boy!" His ears rang from a stiff cuff, but he shook his head, dodging neatly when he realized his father had taken it for petty defiance.

"I told 'er she could clean up here!" With effort, he kept his hands at his sides. If his father thought for a moment he was trying to block him, there would be a thrashing later.

The poor girl was shaking in her skin now, and Leonard was beginning to regret the charitable impulse that had made him bring her home. His father swayed with the breeze, as though even that gentle pressure would knock him from his feet in this intoxicated state.

For a moment Leonard was shocked at the sheer weariness he saw in the man's face- he hardly even recognized this man as his father, his father never wore a look of such hopeless resignation.

He opened his mouth, closed it again; Leonard took a cautious step back lest he decide to let his hands do the talking again. Something flashed across David's face, maybe regret or helpless anger, Leonard couldn't be sure.

"Inside, then. Clean up. Both of you." And he was gone.

Leonard knew better than to trust his father's moods. He gestured to the girl to stay back while he craned his head around the door jamb, watching the retreating back. Satisfied the man wasn't going to turn and set on him, he gestured to the girl to follow him in. She latched onto his hand desperately and Leonard jumped, shocked at the contact. He couldn't remember ever being touched by any of the other children at the school.

She followed him through the hallways of his home quietly so that his light steps and nervous breathing were the only sounds echoing in their ears, pausing briefly at each doorway to check the shadows and peer around corners before she would advance. Not entirely hopeless then.

He gestured to the cupboard where an assortment of first-aid supplies were kept: disinfectants and bandages of all sizes, sutures even. Not wise to go to the doctors in these parts for anything short of a mortal injury, and it bore thinking about even then. No telling what they might demand in return for their service. David McCoy saw to his family's care himself, and these throwbacks were the tools of his trade.

She carefully set about cleaning her scrapes while Leonard scrubbed his hands raw in warm water; he hated the dirt that showed beneath his nails and the small patches of dust and grit on his hands. He was not satisfied until they were pink and sore, the nails ragged from his constant cleaning.

Glancing in the mirror, he caught the girl following his movements with wary eyes. " 'M Leonard McCoy. What's your name?"

The question came out as a hushed whisper, and for some reason that struck him as… fitting.

She was quiet for a long minute, until he began to think maybe she wouldn't answer at all and then… "Jocelyn Darnell."

She offered it to him as though it were some great secret, and many years later he would realize that was exactly what it had been. At that moment though, he was grateful to have found a friend.

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Supper was a strained affair; he could feel his father's eyes on him, following his every movement, assessing every gesture. Mother only picked at her food, head bent; no matter how he tried to catch her attention she avoided him in favor of looking anywhere else. That boded ill; typically she was all too ready to jump to his defense.

"Who was she?"

Leonard started, accidentally locked gazes with his father and just as quickly glanced away.

"I don't know." He shrugged nonchalantly, knowing that wouldn't be the end of it, hoping it would.

"You brought a stranger into our house; someone you just met along the road?"

"She was hurt."

"Could've been you." It was times like these Leonard knew his father loved him despite everything. Despite everything Leonard loved him too, and hated him in equal measure.

"I'm fine."

"What if she had hurt you too? What if she was only faking or was acting as a decoy for someone else, Leonard? Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"

Leonard swallowed tightly, "She hasn't got a reason to hurt me. She doesn't even know me."

Silence fell once more, but his father had dropped his fork and was watching him intently, perhaps for some sign of remorse.

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again." He put some tears into his voice for good measure; that was usually enough to appease his father.

Leonard ground his hands into fists when David pushed back from the table violently, stumbling from the room with curses on his lips.

"Len." He had to lean forward to hear his mama's voice, muted so as not to call the monster once more.

"Your father's right, this once. You shouldn't be bringing strangers home. You shouldn't be stopping for them."

"But-"

"Not even if they're hurt. Your father's the chief surgeon in this sector; you know what that means?"

Leonard shook his head because it was what she expected of him, and she leaned a little closer. "Means some people might want that position, and the benefits that come with it."

He nodded dutifully, reaching out to sip from his cup. His mother lurched forward and grabbed his hand, squeezing it until the circulation was cut off. "You weren't made for this. We knew that, but you can't be a fool either, Len."

"Made for what?"

She pushed back from the table, gathering her dishes and turning her back on him.

"Made for what, mama?"

Evidently that was one of the questions he was not supposed to ask, or maybe shouldn't have to; she didn't bother to answer.

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Leonard scowled at his reflected image in the mirror, combing his hair left and then right, adjusting his shirt just so. Nothing would hide it; he was just going to have to make it through the day with a yellowing bruise spreading down the side of his face. He had thought that maybe after the ice and the pill mum had made him swallow it wouldn't be visible by morning. Luck was not on his side.

When he stepped out of his room, his dad was waiting for him; and he was 'dad' today, not 'father' or 'David'- his hands were steady and his eyes were clear of anything save regret as they fell on his son's face. Nevertheless, Leonard couldn't help flinching when his dad reached for him.

"After school today I want you to come straight to the clinic. There are things I need to tell you, and this is as good a time as any."

Leonard nodded soberly, avoiding his father's searching gaze; he couldn't bear that just yet.

Along the way to school, he stopped near the hedges to look for The Girl- Jocelyn- again. It wasn't likely they would ever meet, but his restless mind turned her problem over and over. All the children in the district attended the same center, meaning that if he looked hard enough he might be able find her. Pity he didn't know the names of the girls that had taken her puppy; her instructors would probably side with her tormentors, but there was no rule that said he couldn't lend a hand. Sometimes it felt like the instructors were even _encouraging_ rivalry between the students, pushing them to forge alliances and break them.

If you couldn't protect what belonged to you, then it was up for the taking; logically, he knew that- it just didn't seem _right. _A creeping thought took hold of him then; no one at school had ever bothered themselves with what was right or wrong. His instructors had never once said he had done something _right._ Come to it, he couldn't remember a student ever being punished for doing something _wrong_, only for being caught at it.

Frantically Leonard sought the root of his problem, and after a few moment's consideration it leapt out at him. His parents were the only ones who had ever told him a thing was wrong, that he should do something right. And they hadn't only meant his work; what was good was right and what was bad was wrong.

He was flawed, but it was not his fault he realized. Furthermore, he wasn't sure he would be better off without his flaws; not if it turned him into the sort of creature that could set children against each other for sport.

Leonard had the sinking feeling that this preoccupation with good and evil might be precisely what had ruined his father, and worse,he realized that if he was not discreet it might well get the best of him too. It was a heavy thought for a child, and his back seemed to bend beneath the weight of it. He learned very young to keep his head down.

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"James."

Jim turned slowly, knowing full well what was coming. A solid fist slammed into his gut and he doubled over, hacking and gasping, spitting the dusty saliva from his mouth.

"Was it worth it, you little shit?"

Before Jim could draw the breath to respond in the affirmative another fist connected with his side and he tumbled to the ground, scrabbling to avoid his mess.

"That fucking car was worth a fortune. I could've been on the other side of the damn continent by now if you hadn't _driven it off a fucking cliff_."

"Quarry. _Into_ a fucking _quarry, _you mean." Ever a stickler for accuracy, that was Jim. When accuracy was in his best interest, which judging by the look on his brother's face it was not. No regrets.

The next blow split his lip and Jim spat blood. Maybe a few regrets. Just a few.

"What the hell were you _thinking_? Are you stupid?"

That last was just too much for even his sparkling good humor. Jim lunged forward, catching Sam behind his knees and dragging him into the dirt. Before his brother could do more than yell with surprise, Jim laid into him, fists flying every which way, uncaring of where he struck so long as he did.

Sam bucked and Jim tumbled onto the ground again, ears ringing with the force of his brother's next blow. "Settle down! Fuck. Mom's going to kill _both _of us."

"She'll gut you first, I'm going to watch." Jim snarled as he pushed himself up carefully, running his tongue across dry lips. He was in a world of pain, but nothing was broken. If they could just straighten their clothes and dust off a little bit there was no call for mother to ever know.

But she would, of course. No telling where she acquired her information, but Winona Kirk knew everything and anything that happened in this backward little town.

Sam sat across from him, chest heaving, wiping a smear of blood from his face. Jim felt a visceral surge of satisfaction at the sight. He was improving; even a year ago he wouldn't have been able to catch Sam off guard like that.

Jim gained his feet first, still ready for a fight. There was no love lost between his brother and he. Sam probably would have taken the opportunity to whale on him a little more had he been first up.

James was tempted to do the same, but if Sam realized just how tired he was, the balance could quickly shift out of his favor. Wait. Just wait. There would be other opportunities.

He backed away as Sam rose, gathering up his bag from where he had dropped it in the dust. "If we take much longer she will come looking for us."

"After you." Kirk sneered- younger he might be, but a fool he was not. Sam wouldn't have minded the loss of Frank's car half so much if Jim had still been in it. One classic car in exchange for the life of one promising younger brother? Fair exchange. Then he could make use of Winona's connections without worrying that she would see to providing for her favorite first.

Jim could have told him that was a stupid thought. If anything _untoward_ happened to him and even so much as a hint of suspicion fell on Sam, he knew his mother wouldn't hesitate to dispose of a damaged son. Winona Kirk was quick to discard broken tools.

Eyeing him warily, Sam moved off, careful to keep a reasonable distance between them.

"You're going to tell her we had trouble at school. I helped you out. She asks for names, you're looking for Thomas Redman and Carol Thoreau."

Jim shook his head incredulously, "Why shouldn't I just tell her the truth? That you jumped me and I kicked your ass anyway?"

"You want to tell her you got jumped? That you're not half as good in a real one-on-one as you are in practice? Go ahead. Or you could give her the names of the top-scoring student and the director's son. You're in the top ten; one spot up will get you closer to top five. Winona will see you in top five if it kills you. Personally, I don't care if it kills you, so lady's choice."

"Sam." His brother turned toward him, walk slowing.

"Next time you say mother's name in that tone, I'll cut out your tongue." Jim grinned cheerfully, but he saw Sam's eyes follow his hands to his pockets.

Sam smirked, but he didn't speak another word. All to the better; Jim was busy calculating the odds of slipping anything past his mother's watchful eye and they looked slim at best. Better to come clean- it would mean extra work for him, hours spent drilling in whatever obscure form of combat she chose to teach, longer still listening to her expound on the importance of wariness. Family was dangerous, she would say, because loyalty was expected of blood and so betrayal was always a shock- family ties were the perfect noose and better cut as soon as they showed signs of weakening.

Jim ran his tongue along the seam of a cut in his mouth, thinking on the problem of Sam in the quiet corners of his mind. Winona wouldn't be pleased, but as long as he cleaned up his mess she couldn't find fault with him. Not today, but soon, he decided.

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Jim's opportunity came far sooner than he expected; on the day of his tenth birthday in fact. With Winona off planet and Frank not particularly interested in seeing to the care of his adopted sons, it was once again left to the Kirk boys to find their own means of entertainment.

The river- no, the stream- wasn't more than a few miles from their home, and Jim crowed exultantly when he beat Sam to its banks by a matter of seconds. They had been here before, alone and in company; Jim vaguely remembered his mother throwing him in when he was four years old and telling him if he did not swim he would drown. He had hated her for that at the time, but he had since accepted the value of the lesson and was grateful to her for teaching it so thoroughly; in such small but telling ways did Winona betray her love for him.

Jim bolted across a small embankment of stones, slipping on the wet surface and cutting his hands on the jagged edge of the rocks. Behind him, Sam laughed raucously, "Watch it, Jim. If you fall in, I'm not pulling you out." Despite the laughter, Jim knew every word was true. Sam was a bully and an opportunist, family meant nothing to him even after all Winona's admonishments that family was the _only_ thing they could count on for any length of time. Sam made his own way, and that made him dangerous.

Jim smiled back over his shoulder, waiting for Sam's laughter to die. "C'mon, Sam. Let's swim. The deep water isn't far, why don't we race to see who's best? Loser has to tell mother about the car."

"That's your bad luck, I didn't have any part in it."

"She won't see it that way. If you hadn't tried running, I never would have taken it."

Sam's expression turned calculating, "What's in it for the winner?"

"Besides not having to face down a dragon? Winner gets one favor he can call in anytime."

They both knew the significance of that; credits were uncertain, not everyone could be bought so cheaply, power was an illusion easily lost. A favor though, could become anything in time. Another lesson Winona Kirk had taken great pains to teach her children.

"Let's go."

Jim wasn't sure whether he wanted to grin in triumph or cast up everything he had eaten for breakfast and then some at the thought of what he intended. He settled for trailing after his brother, considerably more subdued.

Sam's bright eyes followed Jim as he stepped to the edge of the deep water, careful not to stand too close lest the dirt crumple beneath his feet. The current was treacherous here, and the water was strewn with rocks and debris. If he were pulled in unexpectedly it would mean the death of him; conversely, if Sam were to take the fall, no one would blame him for not daring to attempt a rescue- he depended upon it.

It really should have occurred to him to wonder why Sam had changed his mind about the bet so fast; he should have thought about what Sam stood to gain. As the younger brother, what favor could he possibly repay? Jim had been too consumed with guilt to ponder these things, too relieved that Sam had not guessed his motives; it came as a surprise when Sam's palm thudded into his back with enough force to knock him that crucial inch forward, and as he had feared, the ground gave beneath his feet.

Jim flailed in the water, legs thrashing frantically to keep him afloat, but his boots weighed him down; his small body collided with the unforgiving rocks as he was swept down-stream, fingers reaching for any potential hold. He screamed when his nails were pulled from his skin to leave it ripped and bleeding. He could hear Sam laboring to keep up, whooping savagely. Stupid fool, he could not keep pace with the force of the water; would have no way of knowing if Jim lived or died.

The latter was looking increasingly likely.

His boots caught on a submerged branch and Jim took a final, desperate breath before he was pulled beneath the surface. There was no time for thought, sheer panic guided his hands to the grasping branches, pulling at his boots until he could feel his feet slipping free; thankfully the water had numbed his hands so that he did not feel the destruction of his own flesh in the attempt. He sucked in freezing water as he pushed himself onward, lungs aching and head already dizzy, but blessedly in control of his movement; Jim pushed himself sideways, forcing himself to the bank with a strength born of terror. He could have wept with relief when his hands found the solid turf of the embankment, digging into the dirt and roots to haul his battered body out of his would-be grave.

Jim allowed himself precisely a minute to sob into the dirt, uncaring of the smears on his face or the blood on his hands; he was alive, and if he did not deal with Sam now that wasn't going to last long. Jim raised his head, glaring blearily downstream, Sam was searching the water far ahead, scanning for any signs of a battered corpse. With effort, Jim pushed himself to his feet and staggered closer, hardly daring to breathe.

Sam was so caught up in his moment of victory he didn't hear his brother creeping closer, didn't hear the shift of earth when Jim grasped a rock and pulled it from its place. Some sixth sense alerted him at the last minute, made him turn his head just enough that Jim's rock caught him neatly on the temple; his body fell to the earth lifeless, but Jim continued to smash his face until the flesh and bone was pulverized- a shapeless blob. His body had ceased to twitch, and that horrible rattling, bubbling sound in his throat had long since ended when Jim pushed Sam's corpse into the river and watched it wash away.

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For over an hour, Jim simply stared at the spot in the water where his brother had gone under. The guilt was stripped away, and the anger was gone now too; he only felt empty, hollow in a way he wasn't sure anything could fill ever again. Then fear set his hands to trembling, brought tears to his eyes; Winona would not be pleased.

He examined his hands, the blood on his shirt, the rips in his skin; he could lie, say that Sam had fallen into the water while they played, that he had tried to go in after him and nearly been killed. He certainly looked battered enough, and Sam wouldn't be there to contradict him.

Jim made his slow way home, shoulders heaving with sobs and silent screams he did not dare to voice.

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The days Leonard spent at the clinic assisting his father were some of the most peaceful he had ever known or ever would again. There were many times throughout the years when he would look back to those days and almost regret the path he had chosen, when he would wonder what might have happened if he had continued to keep his head down and just accepted his place as a simple country doctor. It was only a pleasant fantasy, Leonard knew he could never have chosen another way.

When David had first brought him to the clinic some slow evenings after school he had been worse than useless; vital equipment misplaced whenever he tried to help organize his father's work area, PADDs left out where curious eyes might pry. His stomach had roiled at the sight of blood every time David asked his help in seeing to an injury, and he had nearly fainted the first time he had helped his father set a bone. The years of discipline and closeness with his father had done much to harden him though.

David no longer set him to menial tasks, instead it was his duty to follow after his father and observe while David treated a multitude of injuries, some with the cutting edge of medical technology, and others with tools Leonard cringed to think of.

When he was fifteen, David had finally invited him to assist in surgery. He had flatly refused to make use of the non-invasive lasers, instead he had cautioned Leonard that some work required a personal touch, that machines could never hold half the sensitivity of a man's hands for all their steadiness. He had pulled a scalpel from its place among his dated equipment, sharp and gleaming despite its age.

David said the scalpel had belonged to his grandfather, and he had made extensive use of it during the war for things Leonard didn't care to think on. David had polished, sharpened and honed the cruel steel himself frequently, and now that task would fall to his son as it had fallen to him so long ago. Watching his father work with that cruel little implement was a revelation; far from the disgust he had expected to feel at seeing a person's flesh torn apart and put together again like so much cloth, Leonard found he liked the hypnotic effect of watching the light play across the blade every time David adjusted its angle just so. The contrast of scarlet blood to stainless steel was arresting, and _that_ sickened him at last until he turned away, glancing back only when David murmured directions.

When at last he had finished, David passed the besmirched blade to Leonard, and there was such a smile on his face as he did so that Leonard had to fight an almost overwhelming urge to find a dark corner and hide; he half expected his father to cut him as he pressed it into his palms.

"This is yours, Leonard. Take care of it, you're going to need it." Leonard flinched when David raised a hand, relaxed when he only rested it on his shoulder in a rare display of affection. He gloried in the brief touch, reveled in his father's approval no matter how little deserved it was.

Leonard considered the blade, wondering where exactly he was supposed to keep it without so much as a sheathe to keep it from cutting into his flesh. David said old lore held it was unwise to wield a blade that had already tasted its master's blood; rank superstition, Leonard thought, but David never kept a blade that had nicked him, rare as those occasions were.

Inspiration struck and he bolted for the locked cabinet, inputing his entry key; David looked on almost fondly as he pulled a roll of medical tape from its place as well as a few gauze pads. He slipped the scalpel carefully into the gauze and taped the makeshift sheathe to the inside of his wrist where it could just be concealed beneath his sleeve and yet within reach should he need it. His father only smiled, and for the first time in years Leonard felt they understood each other perfectly.

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The predicted crisis came nearly two years later, when another student, Olsen, and a few of his cronies attempted to trap Len in the biology lab after the others had all slipped out. Leonard cursed himself a blue streak; he knew better than to be caught alone in an enclosed space, but he had been so caught up in examining images beneath the electron microscope that he had forgotten to pay attention to his surroundings.

Warned by some instinct he couldn't put a name to, Len glanced up just in time to see Olsen slinking closer to him, no more than five feet away.

Never run, David said. Only prey ran, and it was a predator's nature to pursue, so instead Leonard calmly gathered up his PADD and wiped down his work area as though the other student wasn't steadily encroaching on his space. From the corner of his eye, he could see a smirking Nancy trying to cut off his exit; he hopped the counter at his side and made for the door anyway, smiled disarmingly when she stepped into his path.

"You mind moving? You're taking up the whole damn door."

"You have a free period, right? So what's the rush? Olsen and I were thinking we should get to know you a little better, seeing as we're going to be lab partners this year." She tipped her head to a boy Leonard didn't recognize, "Charlie said he's never really met you either."

"That's a crying shame, but I don't have time for your sick little games right now, so why don't you step aside and we'll learn everything we need to know about each other while we work?" His false smile vanished, replaced with a threatening snarl that he hoped would do the trick; he honestly didn't want to hurt these stupid kids, but if he allowed them to push him around, it would send the wrong message to his peers and he'd end up fresh meat for their torments.

"No." Nancy dodged his backhand as the two boys rushed him, grasping hands pulling at his clothes, pushing him back into the door. Understanding dawned, and Leonard silently damned himself for a fool; these pigs thought they were going to turn him into their little fuck-toy, and once they finished there would be worse from the other students. He couldn't let that happen.

His hands were pinned above him, Charlie's nails digging into an unprotected wrist. He glanced up in confusion when he realized there was something protecting the other. Leonard smirked though his pulse was hammering and his mouth was dry, adrenaline pumping through his system and causing him to tremble minutely.

"Better let me go. I'll kill you if you don't. I _swear_ I'll kill you."

Olsen smashed a fist into his cheek, leaving his ears ringing, distantly he could feel the other boy tugging at the fly of his pants and renewed his struggle, growling desperately when Olsen forced a leg between his own. If he could just get to that fucking blade-

"Olsen, he's got something." Mercifully all motion ceased, and Leonard could have wept with sheer relief.

"What is it?"

"Don't know, something tucked in his sleeve." For a split second, Charlie took his hands from Leonard's wrists; one second was all he needed. Olsen howled when Len's forehead smashed into his nose, stumbling back with his hand pressed to his bleeding face; Leonard yanked the scalpel from concealment before Charlie could do more than land a fist in his gut. He doubled up to vomit on the floor, gasping for breath, blade held close.

"Touch me again and I'll cut off your fingers, Charlie." He pinned the other boy with a furious glare, eyes bleeding into a sparkling blue that would have been beautiful but for the circumstances that had provoked it.

Charlie backed away, and Len congratulated himself on a job well done; only minor injuries sustained. Nancy gaped at him, her sleeve pressed to Olsen's face protectively.

"I'm leavin'. You better tilt his head back, it'll help the bleeding."

He pressed the release and the door slid open, Leonard stepped out to into the deserted corridor, slipping his scalpel back into its place. David always said that once a blade had cleared its sheathe its wielder mustn't put it away again until a life was taken; Leonard knew the threat was enough to keep him safe, wasn't sure he could ever have his father's ruthlessness in him and so he began to let down his guard.

That damned fool Olsen rushed him, and filled with adrenaline-fueled desperation Leonard turned and planted the scalpel directly in his throat. He watched in horrified fascination as Olsen sank to the floor, hands pulling feebly at the object embedded in his neck, eyes staring up at Len pleadingly. In all his days, Leonard never could forget that frightened, confused gaze; it haunted him every morning when he awoke and every night when he laid himself down to sleep.

He still could not regret what he did next. With Nancy's frantic screams ringing in his ears and Charlie's broken pants echoing in the hallway, Leonard drew the blade from the other boy's throat, twisting it savagely before he kicked the corpse away. He strode to Nancy and wiped the blade across her tunic, sickened at what they had forced him to do, knowing he must carry it to its natural conclusion.

Leonard turned and walked away as though he hadn't just taken his first- and last, he prayed- life.

Words could not express Leonard's growing horror at what he had done, yet the other students eyed him with new respect when he sat down to lunch- some few chose to congregate at his table, simpering and smirking. He had no appetite, but forced every morsel down as though his life depended on it.

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The afternoon was a blur, just impressions of light and sound and feeling. He didn't truly come back to himself until he lay on his own back porch, weeping brokenly until his mother slipped out to gather him up and push him inside, cooing softly and offering meaningless words of comfort.

"Quiet, Leonard. It's over and your safe. That's all that matters, Len. That's all that matters." But she was crying too, and he could hear the ragged edge of desperation in her voice as though she too needed convincing. He pulled the scalpel from his sleeve and threw it away, uncaring where it landed so long as he did not have to see it again. He stripped away the tape and gauze, unmindful of the sting.

For long hours he stood there, holding onto her like she was the only thing left in his world, weeping until his throat was raw and he couldn't draw the breath for a proper sob. His head pounded viciously, worse than he ever remembered feeling, and he didn't resist when she dragged him over to a chair and pressed a cold cloth to his face, not speaking now, only comforting with her presence.

He slipped into oblivion, and was grateful for the short respite it provided.

It was dark when his father shook him awake, seated on the arm of Leonard's chair; his face looked drawn and haggard, but Len was sick anew to see the relief in his eyes when he spoke.

"I din't think you had it in you, Len."

"I wish I didn't." His voice was still hoarse, and though his shoulders shook with an aborted sob, there were no more tears for him to shed.

"I wish you didn't have to do it." David choked out, "But I'm glad you're the one that came home. I want you to remember that, no matter what comes next."

Alarms sounded in Len's head, the small-hairs on his neck prickling with a sense of urgency. "What d'you mean?"

"Things like this don't go unnoticed, Len; never unpunished. We've drawn a lot of attention to this family, and I think this might be the final blow. I think you might be called on to serve the empire in penance."

A frisson of fear shot down Leonard's spine. "Why? It's happened before. I've seen it!"

"Olsen was fast-tracked for Starfleet academy, Leonard. They lost a recruit today, and they'll want another. I hope they take you; the alternative is executing you for the destruction of imperial property." David cleared his throat, a shaking hand squeezing Leonard's shoulder. "I won't let that happen. It won't happen."

Leonard nodded, not entirely convinced, but desperately wanting to believe the lie.

They sat in darkness for hours, David's hand firm on his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin until he was sure it would bruise. He didn't care, David's touch kept the violent tremors at bay, kept him from sicking up on mother's freshly polished floor. Every knock of a tree's branch against a window had them both jumping, breath catching in their throats.

And then came the knock at the door.

"Dear God," David whispered, and Leonard knew this time it was an earnest prayer, both a plea and confession.

David rose from his seat, whispering a command for the lights. He strode for the door slowly, but there was no hesitation in his steps. Leonard felt more than heard his mother enter the room and come to stand behind his chair.

The door opened to reveal a grim-looking salt-and-pepper man, lines of worry etched as deeply into his face as scars. "Doctor McCoy?"

"Yes?"

"Christopher Pike. I am here on behalf of Starfleet."

"Come in." David's voice was firm, he made it seem almost a command, and Leonard had never admired him more than in that moment.

Pike turned and gestured to someone unseen before stepping into the house. He was followed by an older man, white-haired and stern, whose dark eyes locked on Leonard's form immediately.

"Is this Leonard Horatio McCoy?" The unidentified man questioned.

"The same. Who're you?" Leonard snapped, not caring for the tone of this meeting at all, more frightened than he'd ever been- he had ample cause.

The man didn't smile, but his features softened in something that might have been amusement or pity or some strange mixture of the two. "Philip Boyce. I'll be your adviser at the academy."

So David had been right, they were here to take him. Leonard stood slowly, nodding to their unexpected guests. "I'll pack."

"It's not that simple." Pike cut in, and Leonard could see genuine regret in his expression. "Leonard McCoy, do you deny that you have killed one Micah Olsen?"

"No." Dread sent tingles of coldness across his skin.

"Then I am also here to see your sentence carried out."

"Sentence?" Leonard's mother choked.

Boyce broke in, "The law is clear on this subject. For a civilian to take the life of anyone attached to the Imperial Fleet without authorization- be it officer or cadet- the punishment is death. Leonard McCoy's file is quite impressive; the admiralty expects he could make something of himself in the fleet, but someone must be punished."

Pike and Boyce both turned to David. "As his father, it would normally fall to you." Pike murmured.

"I expected as much." David's voice was strong. "Shall we take this outside, gentlemen?"

"No!" Leonard cried out, surprised when the softer voices of the two officers joined his.

"Doctor McCoy, as Leonard was the offending party, council has decided that it is his obligation to carry out the sentence." Pike's voice was subdued, but his eyes locked on David's resolutely.

Mrs. McCoy fainted and Leonard scrambled to catch her; David appeared a bit unsteady on his feet himself.

Boyce glanced to Pike before speaking, "Furthermore, the council has requested a demonstration of his skill, to be assured that they are not wasting resources on an asset that may later be compromised."

"Dear _God_." David murmured again, and Pike echoed him soundlessly. Leonard could feel the blood rushing from his face, didn't want to know what could make this man feel any compassion for his father.

"Leonard McCoy, you will demonstrate your fitness by removing David McCoy's skin; it is your especial aim to extend life and consciousness as long as you possibly may."

He couldn't do it. It took him a few moments to realize he had spoken the thought aloud.

Boyce answered his words before Pike had opened his mouth. "Leonard, if you refuse to comply with orders it will be accounted mutiny; you are officially the property of Starfleet; have been since you took out Olsen. The punishment for mutiny is summary execution; there will be no trial and your family will share in the sentence as co-conspirators. That is not the choice you want to make."

David was pulling him out of the house and toward the transport before Leonard could even answer. "Let's go to the clinic, Len, this last time."

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It was done. It was over. Leonard stared at the grass beneath his feet; every time he blinked bright scarlet flashed before his eyes, images he knew would never leave him. He couldn't feel the grief yet or the rage, he knew it was coming, but for now all he felt was a bone-deep exhaustion.

Leonard staggered to a tree a few feet away, leaned against it until he could feel his equilibrium returning. Thankfully, Boyce had pushed him from the room as soon as the awful task was done, suggested he take in some fresh air to clear his head. That was the last thing he wanted, at the moment Leonard wanted to forget.

The crunch of dead grass beneath boots made him raise his head; Pike stood before him, solemn and subdued. Leonard hated him with a passion, more so even than Boyce. He had watched and done nothing, stood there and observed passively, never flinching even when the broken screams hit their crescendo.

Leonard shied away when Pike reached out to him, swallowed when the man grasped his arms and shook him harshly. "You need to snap out of this and go to your mother."

"She doesn't want to see me. She'll never want to see me again." Leonard knew it to be true, how could his mother bear to look on him when he could hardly stand to be himself? This was a stain that would never wash clean.

"Bullshit. She's family. Family watches out for family."

"Like I did my father?" Leonard growled, wrenching viciously from Pike's grip.

Pike's lips thinned, "You made the only choice you could, McCoy. It was the wise one." Leonard noticed he didn't say 'right'; here was another man that knew the difference- poor bastard.

"Not the only." Leonard snarled.

"The only choice that would have preserved you and your mother. That's your first duty, McCoy- look out for those under your care. And right now, that _is_ your mother."

"'S that the 'Fleet's official position?" Leonard sneered.

"To hell with them. Take care of your own and to hell with the rest, it's the only way this works."

Len doubled over, vomiting again. The tears rose up faster than he could contain them, and he fell to his knees. A monster. He was a fucking monster. And this man would have him believe that was exactly what he was supposed to be, that it was the only way to pull through.

To hell with Starfleet, he'd said. Well to hell with Christopher Pike and Philip Boyce; he wouldn't play their fucked up game. This was the last time he would allow himself to be backed into a corner. There would be no more killing, with or without orders; there would be no more torture, and anyone that said otherwise could go straight to hell.

Pike and Boyce both held to the illusion that in order to fight the monsters one must first become one. At his young age, Leonard had learned something they probably never would: that was precisely what the monsters wanted others to believe, the only way of perpetuating their unnatural version of life. He was done with it, and if it took his last breath he'd see their whole world crumble around their ears.

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Jim stepped carefully around the creaky floorboard just beyond the door; he'd been out late tonight, watching the older kids at their sick games, learning the way of it. Winona had managed to keep him close for months since they had moved into town, but he had managed to slip free this evening while she worked on her PADD. It was the perfect night for reconnaissance; the Samhain vigils had been set, and Jim had ventured close enough to see the 'festivities'- he'd been very careful not to draw so close that he might be pulled into them.

He knew better than to think Winona was asleep now, hoped that maybe if he stepped lightly enough she would fake it anyway.

No such luck. Winona sat at the small table in their modest kitchen, not a single light on, with a bottle of whiskey near to hand; he could hear the sound of her muffled sobs from where he stood in the door. Jim approached her slowly, careful to make plenty of noise; Frank had made the mistake of surprising her once not too long ago- Winona didn't believe in warning shots. He laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "I'm home."

Her hand reached up to clasp his, sharp nails filed to a point dug into his pale skin. "George." She sniffed, "I-"

"Not George. Jim." On any other night he would have played along with her alcohol fueled confusion, but he knew this scene was his fault tonight and he'd rather deal with her in drunken sorrow than sober fury.

Her voice was still hoarse when she answered; "James Tiberius Kirk. You will be the death of me." He could see her tears shining on her cheeks by moonlight, but none gathered in her eyes any longer.

"I take it you've learned all you wanted to know?" She laughed bitterly, nails scratching until he felt the sting of skin parting. "More?"

Jim had been expecting some sort of retaliation besides a night of solitary drinking; a few slurred curses and maybe some broken dinner plates if she was especially worried. After the incident with Sam she had even… his mind shied away from the thought even as his fingers traced over the concealed scars.

This easy acceptance raised his hackles; it was exactly how she had greeted the news of his brother's untimely demise and he suspected that once more it would prove to be the calm before the storm.

"You're not in trouble, Jim. Not tonight. If you're old enough to take responsibility for your life- or loss thereof-who am I to stop you?" Her eyes glinted oddly in the sparse light, and he was tempted to raise the lights, but then she would assume that he feared her. After what he had seen tonight, he was not sure he could.

Jim glanced suspiciously at the whiskey bottle, it was true that Winona could hold her drink, but to be this articulate was strange. She herself had taught him to watch for any inconsistencies, odd little behaviors that might indicate an approaching betrayal.

"It was very enlightening." Jim's face twisted with disgust; the scenes he had witnessed tonight were about as far from enlightenment as he could conceive of- rampant debauchery, careless slaughter… he had narrowly dodged several grabbing hands himself and did not care to think what might have happened otherwise. Samhain was a ritual of rebirth, but that necessitated death first.

"Enlightening!" Winona threw back her head and laughed bitterly, "I'm glad you thought so." Her mood shifted like quicksilver and he could see the tears slipping free to run down her cheeks again. "Go to bed, Jim. Leave me in peace."

"M-"

"Leave." The sharpness of her tone cut short anything he might have said in his defense, he climbed the stairs quickly and dimmed the lights in his own chamber.

Sleep was the last thing on his mind and certainly not his intention for all that he did crawl into his own bed. Images danced through his head of bonfires and feasting and games. Only the bonfires had been funeral pyres for those unlucky enough to be caught outdoors after sunset, and the feasts had shared something in common with those fires- namely their fuel. "Games" was a tame word for the entertainment Jim had witnessed out there; less than half the participants had seemed to in any way enjoy the proceedings. He wondered what the criteria was for those given to the fire and those to the games.

The deciding factor for those who enjoyed and those who suffered was obvious enough; the strong preyed upon the weak- the 'weak' being defined as anyone without connections, without power or wit or strength… without defense.

Jim made a decision then, one that would guide him for many years to come; he must not be weak, he must not permit even the perception of it. And having decided this, he found sleep came more easily to him than it had in all his fourteen years. Some might have said it was the sleep of the innocent- peaceful and undisturbed, but it was only that he had chosen not to be bothered any longer with thoughts of 'right' or 'wrong'. His objective was to thrive, and toward that end he would do anything.

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I have the first six chapters written and am cross-posting from AO3 as I edit, hence updates should be fairly quick these first few days. :)


	2. Crisis

Tags include: Brief sexual content, minor character death, implied cannibalism, and canon-typical violence. Also semi-spoilers for the original series episode "The Conscience of the King."

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They were only an hour from their destination by the time Leonard McCoy dared to address his traveling companions once more. He'd spent the day in what Phil had assumed was a case of delayed shock, refusing food and drink, declining any and all opportunities to speak. That suited both he and Pike fine; neither one of them were any more inclined to conversation than the young man before them trying to white-knuckle his way through this flight.

"You Son of a Bitch." There was enough venom in the words that even Chris deigned to take notice, shifting subtly to bring his weapon nearer to hand. "You fucking lied to me."

"On which point?" Damn him for sounding so amused, Phil was not of the mind to be patching the bastard up if this kid decided to go psycho in the enclosed space.

"What were your orders?"

"Didn't I say I came to see sentence carried out?"

"That's not an answer."

Pike's gaze sharpened, "I was ordered to evaluate you; determine whether you were fit for service in the Imperial fleet. I was ordered to devise a fitting punishment for your casual slaying of a pre-admission cadet. Does that answer your question?"

"Where are we going? This isn't the heading for San Fran."

"Clever." Boyce cut in, seeing the dawning comprehension in the boy's eyes; his fingers slid carefully around the hypospray tucked in his uniform.

"You have a few years yet before you could make it there. We're not going to toss you into the academy and see you torn apart your first week. It's a waste of resources we can ill afford. You will pursue an appropriate course of study until such time as you are deemed ready for entry into the academy."

Leonard's gaze flew back to Pike, locked on him with an intensity born of hatred. "My father didn't have to die. That was never in your orders." His voice roughened, every word bit off pointedly, "I didn't have to kill him, and not like that."

Pike shook his head slowly, "I'm sure you've heard this before; you're too smart for your own good."

McCoy flew across the compartment almost faster than Phil could follow, he strained his knee just wrenching out of his chair to put the kid in a choke-hold and wrestle him down, ignoring the nails tearing into his skin and the teeth worrying at him to plunge the hypo into his neck. Leonard slumped against him, fists still spasming with the effort of holding on even as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Chris watched the two wrestle on the floor dispassionately, utterly unconcerned with the struggle taking place before him. "I meant it, Phil. He's a clever bastard. You're sure he's not too much for you? I could take him off your hands."

Boyce tossed McCoy back into his place and fastened his restraints carelessly, half-impressed at the boy's tenacity and more than a little pissed about the sting of cuts all down his wrist and arm. "He's mine. McCoy's going to go places, and damned if I'll let you take the credit for it. Find your own, Pike."

"I might at that." Pike murmured pensively.

"If you've gone and broken this one, Chris, I will kill you myself."

Pike shrugged, held out a hand, gesturing at Phil's injured arm. "It had to be done. If he'd gone into the academy with that pristine record, they would have ripped him apart. Now the record will show that Leonard H. McCoy voluntarily surrendered his father to the empire, and as proof of his dedication, carried out both punishment and execution himself."

He unbuttoned Phil's sleeve and pushed it up his arm, examining the damage thoroughly.

"No one will fuck with him. A little blood on his hands will keep the boy safe until you can make something of him. I expect the best, Phil." His blue eyes rose to pin Boyce in place, "I also trust you will not forget _your_ part in this; fourteen minutes, Phil, and you're responsible for every one."

Boyce nodded, it had been his idea to force McCoy to extend his father's execution as long as possible. It was not a decision he regretted, the boy was a true artist with that little blade. It wouldn't hurt to have his records reflect that he knew the proper way to skin a man and make it last.

Granted, it would be years before he obtained the casual skill of the best interrogators, but for a novice, fourteen minutes was a good start. That more than anything would keep the command-track cadets away from the medical recruit. Reputation was key, it was a lesson he and Pike had learned all too well.

Phil winced at the sting of Chris' rough tongue deliberately scraping over the deepest cut, "Don't forget me when you're seeing to your favorite recruit, Phil. I wouldn't take kindly to it."

Fuck. Chris' teeth played over the skin that Leonard had dug his own fangs into only a few minutes ago. "Damn brat." Pike murmured, "Marking up what's mine. I should turn him over to One, let her indulge old habits for a bit." The anger in Chris' voice was entirely genuine, but they both knew the threat was empty; Boyce would not permit any unfortunate accidents to happen to his new recruit so soon, and Pike would cut off his own right hand before he'd meddle in Phil's affairs. They had accomplished too much together to be adversaries now.

Besides, he knew Pike would reclaim every inch of him tonight. He shuddered in a mixture of fear and anticipation at the thought; Chris only smirked. "How long will he be out?"

"Maybe an hour and a half. Hour at the least." Phil didn't bother to protest when Pike surged forward to pin him in place, calloused hands already pulling at the stays on Phil's shirt, one leg shoving his roughly apart.

"Perfect."

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It was nearly two hours before Leonard regained consciousness, another ten minutes before he could convince his limbs to respond to even the most basic command. He used the time to study his surroundings.

Small, neat room. A single desk and the bed he lay on seemed to be the only furniture. A rough carpet covered the floor- not a cell then. He rose carefully, wary of dizziness or any other lingering effects of Boyce's concoction. Done in by a hypospray; he would remember the tactic for later, assuming there was a later.

The door slid open as he approached and he stepped out in the hallway, glancing either way in the hope of catching someone to inquire where the hell he was and why. Maybe it was a foolish thought, ignorance was something best left hidden lest it come home to roost later. He debated for a second, chose to walk left, barely keeping himself from a jog.

As it turned out, he didn't have far to go. There was a tidy little vestibule at the end of the corridor, a desk where a petite woman sat, absorbed in her work. He approached with caution, mindful of the sharp pins that held her hair away from her face in a too-tight bun. Startling her was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Pardon me." He winced at the polite words; that might not be the chord to strike here; wherever the hell this was, it wasn't small-town Georgia.

The woman looked up in surprise, shoving away from the desk and gaining her feet faster than Leonard could have moved to stop her.

Leonard McCoy found himself looking into a very familiar pair of brown eyes, conspicuously lacking the tears he had seen the last time they had met, hair considerably tamer and uniform decidedly not rumpled and dirty.

"Jocelyn Darnell." Eight years and he still remembered the name; the memory was tainted now, but the face was blessedly familiar in this unknown place.

She frowned, "McCoy."

Good to know he wasn't the only one. Leonard decided to take the chance and ask his questions; he had helped her once, that would count for something even here. Debts and favors were universal currency all throughout the empire.

"Where the hell are we?" He swallowed nervously, cursed himself for the weakness.

"In the general or particular sense?" She looked concerned, scanning him for any signs of injury- or weapons perhaps? Irrelevant.

"Both."

"Welcome to the University of Mississippi. This is the science wing of the first year's dorm. What are you doing here?"

"Long story, you?"

She smirked, "Molecular biology."

"Aren't you a little young to be studying here?" He blushed at the absurdity of the question coming from someone hardly two years her senior; they were both a little far from home, and neither belonged here.

"Aren't you a little young to be this intoxicated? You'd better not let the proctor catch you; it's good for a couple hours in the booth."

"I'm not drunk." He snapped, unreasonably defensive- mostly because he desperately wished he were. He wished this whole day had just been a nightmare, that he had the means to dull the memory of it even a little bit, but he didn't.

"No? Then maybe you want to go ahead and let me in on that story of yours." Quid Pro Quo; he still had dozens of questions that still required answers, and she might know more of it than she was letting on.

Leonard opened his mouth to speak, but Jocelyn raised a quelling hand. "Outside, idiot. Unless you want everyone to know your business."

Right. Surveillance. Just another new reality he would have to accustom himself to. "All right."

Years later Leonard would damn himself a dozen times for giving into that need for comfort. He would hate himself for every evening he spent in Jocelyn's company, telling her half-truths of what had happened to lead him here, he would hate himself for the stolen moments of peace between their studies and the nights he stumbled to her dorm still trembling in agony after his latest defiance. He would hate himself for it, but wouldn't exchange a second of that beautiful lie for all the world.

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Jim slipped out early in the morning, stopping by the kitchen just long enough to grab a little food before he was ready to leave. Winona stood before the small window just above the counter, dressed professionally, with her face made up to such an extent that he couldn't see the worry lines running across her sallow skin or the frown lines beginning to pull at her lips; seemed he wasn't the only one with business this morning. He didn't concern himself with details; it was none of his affair who she was fucking or why, Winona always had her reasons.

She caught his eye as he turned to go, but didn't make any move to stop him. Winona rarely concerned herself with his actions any more; for years after that fateful Samhain she had tried, until one evening, frustrated beyond reason, she had struck him.

Jim's instinctive counter-strike had knocked her back two paces; the shock in her eyes had mirrored his own, but they both recovered swiftly. Neither one of them had ever addressed the issue directly, but she had never raised a hand to him again; not even when he joined in the festivities the following year and the year after.

The crudeness of the celebrations did not appeal to him, but he understood well the importance of maintaining the status quo through fear. There was a method to this madness, inelegant though it might be. In time, Jim had decided elegance was greatly overrated; there were so few that had any appreciation for it.

He had just stepped out the door when Winona spoke, "Do you intend to participate in the yuletide celebration?"

In truth, he had given no thought to the matter. It tempted him though, hunting convicted traitors through the ruins of the old city- stalking them and watching as their panic slowly built. It was rumored that in more isolated parts of the empire, these unfortunates were chosen at random from among the people, but here it was only ever criminals.

A pity, there would be a special thrill in waiting to hear if one had been selected as hunter or hunted each year, but Jim was content with his role.

"Yes." The hunt and the gathering that was sure to follow; in Jim's experience, blood-lust was quick to turn into the more conventional kind, and he relished the thought of some pretty little hellion in his arms, teeth and nails raking at him with a desperation equal to his own.

Winona only nodded, but he thought he could sense a reluctant pride in the gesture. Her son was no kind of coward, and if he could set even her on edge then certainly he would be a worthy match for many others. He turned to go once more, but Winona called him back.

"James."

Jim turned again at his mother's voice, blue eyes wide and inquiring, deceptively innocent. She shivered imperceptibly, recognizing a hardness in him now that nearly equaled her own; he was too young for it by half.

"I've accepted an assignment off-planet. There's a colony in need of advisers- Tarsus Four; I've been personally selected."

Jim raised a brow, "Why bother telling me? I assumed you'd just disappear as you normally do." His bitterness rang in every word, accusation coloring his tone; it was his expression that surprised her. Something vaguely like hope had lit his eyes, longing maybe. Winona couldn't suppress a sharp pang of regret; she had taken a part in shaping him, every magnificent cruelty could be laid at her door as much as his. He would go far, but she wondered how long it would be before he decided she was entirely unnecessary.

"It will be a few years, Jim. I thought you would come with me." She could order him to obey and sheer force of habit would ensure he did, but soon he would be too wise for those tricks and she would pay a pretty price for every time she had used them. Better to let him decide now. She hoped he would accept; there was an old saying she had heard once as a little girl, "The mountains are high and the emperor is far away."

That was exactly what Jim needed, a few years off-world with a weaker imperial influence would dull his edge.

His eyes fairly glowed, not with satisfaction or anger, and his smile was genuine, lacking any sharpness. Winona relaxed somewhat, reading no violence in his stance.

"When do we leave?"

They couldn't leave soon enough as far as she was concerned. By morning their few belongings were packed and they were well on their way.

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Jim waited in the forward observation deck, taking in the sight of his new home greedily when its image filled the screen. The voyage had been a thrill and an awakening; his blood had sang in his veins practically from the first moment he had set foot aboard ship.

Jim knew his purpose now, would hone his ambition for it. One day he would captain a vessel just like this; he wouldn't bother with cargo runs or passenger transport- conquest in the name of the empress was far more tantalizing. Then he would see and explore hundreds, thousands, of new worlds just like this one.

Winona's hand on his shoulder brought him reluctantly back to the present. He had heard her enter of course, he was never so relaxed as to tune out his surroundings, but he had hoped she would give him a few minutes more with his thoughts.

"We will be disembarking in less than an hour."

He nodded his understanding, "My things are ready."

"I must report to my station directly. Kodos has a daughter that has offered to show you to our quarters." She didn't need to add that it would be in his best interest to make an impression, Jim was already planning just that.

They each went their separate ways as soon as they had beamed down, Winona directing a solemn, stocky little man to carry her supplies straight to the survey point. Jim turned away from her and found just the girl he was looking for slinking toward him from the east. She was tall and blonde, golden curls piled atop her head in an intricate pattern he would delight in tangling; she stepped lightly, and as she drew closer Jim saw that she was smiling widely.

He recognized the same falseness of expression that he had seen reflected back at himself so many times.

When he said he was delighted to meet her, it was nothing less than the honest truth; here was a creature he could understand. He would have to be careful of her, warn Winona to watch the father; these were kindred spirits.

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Jim had regretted missing the Yuletide celebrations back on earth, but it no longer seemed to matter; he still held a pretty little hellion pinned beneath him, hand pressed cruelly into the hollow of her throat, harsh breaths barely able to escape her.

He grunted as she shifted her hips once more, nails raking down his back until he arched into her viciously, delighting in her short, keening cry. Jim even allowed her to push him onto his back, riding him until he could feel her warmth clenching around him.

He pushed her harshly away before he could come; it wouldn't do for him to get the governor's daughter pregnant. Hell, he couldn't even remember her name; it had just been a quick fuck to pass the time.

She didn't seem to care much, pressing her lips to his until he pulled back. Manipulative bitch, he thought fondly; she had a long way to go before she could match him in this game.

"We'll try this again sometime." She slipped into her dress, tossing a provocative look over her shoulder. Jim offered her an answering smile, smirked when she gasped softly at the heat in his eyes. He wasn't satisfied, true, but there was nothing she could offer him. He was bitterly disappointed, seeing her today at the rendezvous point, recognizing in her the same ruthless ambition that drove him, he had hoped she could ease that restlessness he felt growing deep within, even if it was only for a few moments.

Jim rose, completely comfortable in his own skin, and ushered her out the door briskly. She hadn't been gone for more than ten minutes before he had taken himself in hand, surrendering to a brief fantasy of someone with more fire, more banked ferocity than that uninspiring chit could ever be. It didn't ease him, nothing did.

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The famine began but a few weeks after their arrival; blight had spread through the harvest, something previously unseen on Tarsus IV. Both Jim and Winona wondered if it might have been tucked among the cargo on their ship, but neither voiced the thought aloud, even in the supposed privacy of their own home.

Instead Winona applied herself to finding a strain of bacteria that could combat the vicious effects of the blight. No results were forthcoming, but she drafted Jim to work with her, setting him to combing through records for anything that sounded similar.

Then the deaths began. A couple elders, one or two children lost to the gnawing hunger. Feeling the tide of public opinion turning against her, Winona contacted Starfleet and requested reinforcements, an evac at the least. There was no answer- she hadn't really expected one. Tarsus IV was an agricultural planet, and if their crop was suffering then it would only mean fewer supplies for outlying colonies.

"Bread and circuses", she reminded Jim; the people of the central planets would not care so long as their stomachs were full, and so long as the empress held the power of Starfleet, she was secure.

The death toll mounted slowly, preying first upon the old and infirm, the very young or very ill.

The turning point came when an otherwise healthy middle-aged man was found dead in the fields, stomach filled with bark and grass, anything to deaden the pain. Rumors began then of families making creative use of their dead, and from there it was only a short step to quietly finishing off the weaker members, using them to bolster the odds for those marginally more fit.

Even that proved too little, and Kodos instituted emergency measures, distributing rations according to ability. Winona never lacked for supplies, and by extension Jim was cared for. He amused himself sometimes, passing food to those less fortunate, watching to see how they would make use of it, if they could survive. Winona grew more haggard every day, a little slower and a little less confident with every hour.

She didn't even remark when Jim began to institute his own form of emergency rationing, cutting his own already meager portions in half and offering the rest to anyone willing to fight for them. It was impressive, the depths of savagery to which these people could sink, and he was not surprised to find that it was not usually the strongest that triumphed but the most ruthless. Jim would have done as much and worse had it been his life in the balance.

Governor Kodos began the final stage of emergency rationing a full month after the famine hit its peak. After a flurry of frenzied messages, Starfleet finally replied that it would be weeks before relief could arrive. Death squads became the new nightmare haunting the people's days; Jim and Winona walked freely without fear- no one dared to so much as glare at them too long after Jim had personally plucked the eyes out of the last man he caught eyeing his mother like so much meat.

Kodos personally addressed the people, assured them that measures would be taken to ensure they survived until relief arrived. His "measures" being the execution of four thousand civilians; Jim applauded his ruthless practicality, all the while knowing it had been too late. Had he instituted such measures even a few weeks sooner it might have worked, but now it was only a drop of water in a river.

Jim watched Winona grow weaker by the day, suspected she had diverted a portion of her rations to him, and they both pretended the portions they received were enough to sustain them during the day's work.

Soon even that illusion was ripped away when Winona collapsed one afternoon; she felt feverish and far too frail in his arms. Jim carried her determinedly to their makeshift infirmary, exhausting himself after work that would not even have left him breathless a couple months ago.

She slipped away from him only a few hours later, and Jim knew precisely who was to blame.

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Governor Kodos was shocked to see Jim Kirk standing patiently outside the door of his residence, awaiting entrance though he knew it was barred until further notice. Kodos keyed in the entry code anyway; if someone in the colony had news on the Imperial Fleet then it would surely be the son of Winona Kirk.

He felt his first inkling of unease when Kirk paused in the foyer to assess Lenore. "You look surprisingly healthy, Lydia. These hard times seem hardly to have touched you."

"Lenore." She snapped, bristling visibly.

Jim's smile was more than half mad and Kodos found himself stepping closer in case he was needed.

"Lenore. Of course, "The rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore." Lenore smiled, mollified.

Jim's smile vanished, "Nameless here, forevermore. Are you familiar with the poem, Lenore?" She shook her head mutely, sensing his fey mood now.

"Poe. Edgar Allan Poe. Nineteenth century Terran poet; called a genius now, died in a gutter alone and penniless in his time. Isn't that the way it always goes?" Jim continued mournfully, "A man might be called a hero in other circumstances, other times, but all too often he's a villain or a wastrel in his own."

Kodos swallowed, and Jim's attention fixed instantly on him. "Sir, I haven't seen you since your last proclamation. It's no wonder you didn't let the viewscreen show a full image; your paunch hardly seems to have diminished since this famine started." Kodos locked eyes with Kirk and saw his death reflected there.

"That's why I'm here, I suppose." Jim shrugged. "I was going to suggest an old Terran tradition. To take the colony's mind off these troubling times."

"Where is your mother, James?" A sickening feeling of dread coiled in Kodos' gut, causing his gorge to rise.

"She's resting. Too much work, not enough resources."

"That's a pity; tell Winona I will personally see her fitted out with more resources as soon as they become available to me."

"Are you familiar with Terran Yuletide customs, Kodos?"

Lenore sneered, preparing a biting reply that Kirk silenced by the simple expedient of fixing her with his sharp gaze.

"It seems Lenore is acquainted with the general idea. Yule is a winter celebration; it takes place on the longest night of the year, just before the days begin to grow short again. On Earth we hold a symbolic hunt; it used to be that we would hunt down game, slaughter it for a feast to hold back winter's privations. Of course, in times of plenty there is no need. These days we hunt down our foes and outcasts, sacrifice them on the altar of entertainment."

Kodos tried to speak, but Kirk was not finished. "This past year was going to be my first hunt, but Winona was called here too soon." He glanced at his boots almost shyly, finally silent.

"And what would I set the people to hunt, Kirk? We have no criminals, no traitors-"

"False." There was a terrible finality in Kirk's voice. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is, in the spirit of fair play I will give you ten minutes to make your escape. Beginning now."

Neither the governor nor his spawn required a second warning, both fled the confines of their former sanctuary and the enemy that had invaded it. They didn't have far to run, weak hands plucked at them, emaciated bodies blocked their way and a cry rose from the throat of every citizen that saw them pass. In the end, it was less than twenty minutes before Jim had found them again.

He should not have been so strong, not after living as he had for so many weeks, but there was strength enough in his limbs to bind Kodos tightly, force him down to his knees before a mob of howling victims. There was enough will in him that he helped to light the long overdue Yule fires, and when one boy suggested that Lenore would be fitting kindling, Jim was able to laugh gleefully as he and three others hauled her writhing body to the hot flames. The screams were no deterrent, neither the wretched screams that faded to silence in a matter of moments.

"Just like home." Jim shouted for the benefit of the crowd, and a roar of agreement answered him.

He stepped over to the governor, kneeling before him so that they were face to face, "Your people are hungry, sir. I think it's your duty to provide for them." Kodos never saw the crude shard of glass that swept across his carotid, severed every chance of survival. His death meant life for others.

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When Captain Pike arrived three days later, he was greeted at the rendezvous point by a small delegation of Tarsus IV citizens. Governor Kodos was not in attendance, but the small group gathered around a blond boy with fever-bright eyes and a hollow face that was all planes and sharp angles. He didn't look like much, clothes hanging loosely on his frame, dirty and rumpled and too weak to enforce any sort of discipline on his followers. Yet they moved aside almost reverently when he stepped forward to greet Pike.

"We've been expecting you, captain."

"So I gather." Pike murmured wryly, watching the hungry faces around him. "There are supplies in the ship, as well as new seeds for your planting season. There should be enough here to tide you over until then."

A quiet cheer rose from the group; the boy raised a hand and they fell silent. Intrigued, Pike stepped closer. "What's your name, boy?"

A reckless smile, charming and dangerous and far too cocky for his age. It reminded Chris of another recruit he'd once known. "Kirk. James Tiberius Kirk."

George and Winona Kirk's son. This one would be worth watching; Pike didn't bother hiding his grin, he might well have found just the playing piece he'd been seeking.

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It was a few years and thousands of light-years before Christopher Pike found Jim Kirk again; once again he was in the middle of a crowd, and once again there was a half-mad grin on his face, but this time he was pinned to a wall while three of Starfleet's prospective cadets threatened him none too inventively. Jim Kirk didn't seem to give half a damn.

Chris debated for several minutes before he finally waded silently into the crowd, pushing his way forward with calculated blows and hissed threats. Seeing him, many of the students dispersed; it didn't matter, he knew their names and could just as easily track them down later.

"I never thought I'd see you again, son." Chris spoke as soon as he was certain he was near enough to be heard.

"The hell'd you call me?" Kirk snarled, twisting in the grip of a mean-looking cadet Pike hadn't had occasion to notice before. There were at least a half dozen weaknesses he could see in the man's stance though, and if Kirk couldn't see them then he wasn't worth the oxygen Chris was wasting now.

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, Kirk."

There was a loud snap that might have been the cadet's kneecap if his squealing was anything to go by. Chris narrowly dodged the first fist, easily avoided the second, and cursed himself for an old fool when Jim kicked his ankle sharply. Painful and effective.

Jim's head snapped sideways when Pike's elbow connected with his jaw, throwing him off balance until the captain could pin him easily to the wall, mouth pressed to his ear. "There's no organization half so capable as Starfleet when it comes to combat training, _son_. You might want to give it a try instead of leaving your brains spattered uselessly in some hole-in-the-wall dive like this."

"Capable? I've seen better moves from _littlegirls_, I shit you not."

Chris didn't doubt it in the least; he couldn't keep a fond smile from his face at the thought of One- there was a woman with a gift.

"They're not cadets until they set foot on the shuttle tomorrow. And that's exactly where I expect you to be." The "or else" was heavily implied.

Jim laughed gaily, reaching up to wipe a smear of blood from his lips. "I might."

Pike knew that was as good as a 'yes' from any other man; he left the bar satisfied that his work was done.

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Ack, sorry. Final projects and exams everywhere, but I've got half the next part edited and the other chapters aren't too long. Updates should be daily henceforth.

Next chapter, they finally meet.


	3. Fate

Tags include: _Discussion _of abortion, and canon-typical violence, also kinda sorta domestic abuse? It's exceedingly brief, but technically qualifies. Hey, look at that! The cleanest chapter yet!

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Leonard gaped in stunned disbelief; he could feel the blood rushing from his head, leaving him dizzy and cold with fear. The floor seemed to waver beneath him and he braced his legs apart to keep his balance.

Before him stood Jocelyn, red-eyed and shaking, he was reminded of the little girl she had been so many years ago, but this was far more pressing than the loss of a puppy or a scraped knee.

She swallowed, drew in on herself even more. "What are we going to do?"

Leonard was ashamed to admit that his first response was almost "we?", but he couldn't do that to her; not after nearly seven years of watching each other's backs, both of them waiting for a knock on the door that hadn't materialized. Yet.

"How far along are you?" He was proud of his steady voice, the way his back straightened and his chin rose as though he knew precisely what he was doing. It had taken years of practice to get it down pat, and he had never needed the charade as much as he did right now.

"Three months, I think." Joss responded to his seeming confidence, hands clasped at her waist, voice soft but not nearly so frightened.

Three months. Still plenty of time to correct this mistake; they could put it all behind them. How the hell had this happened? He administered Jocelyn's monthly injection himself when she didn't. They had been so careful… but nothing was failsafe he knew.

The devil of it was, Leonard found he wanted to own up to this particular 'mistake.' Between the two of them, they could find a reason to get the hell away from the med-center, head straight back to Georgia where the Darnell name still meant enough to shield them for a time. Maybe long enough to deliver a baby, hide it somewhere no one would think to look.

Maybe. If he was wrong, the punishment would be excruciating- he didn't want to dwell on it.

Leonard hesitated for a split second, but this had to be her choice as much as his."I could get you into the clinic after hours-"

"If I had wanted to get rid of it I could've managed without you!" Jocelyn snarled. "I want this baby. It's mine."

"A baby in't a fucking puppy, Joss. You don't have to worry about a couple punks coming along and claiming it for their own. If you need me to spell it out for you-"

Len was entirely unprepared for the open-handed slap; it had always been a rule between them that whatever they had to do to survive 'out there', it would never follow them home.

"I'm sorry." Joss murmured, not sounding all that apologetic. "You sounded hysterical."

Leonard only nodded.

The silence between them was uncomfortable such as it had not been for years.

"You know the fleet still wants me."

"Boyce hasn't so much as checked in on you since you landed the research grant-"

"So they're biding their time. Doesn't mean I won't have to pay the piper. You really want to add a kid into that mix?" Leonard was crazy enough to want it, didn't even realize he was holding his breath until Jocelyn nodded. "If you'll work with me, we can manage this."

"We'll need to find an excuse to get you off campus." It was that simple- from abstract to concrete in a moment's time.

"I'll apply for a position elsewhere; no one will be surprised. It's occasioned some comment that I haven't tried reaching higher yet." The calculating gleam in her eye said it had been far more than a few stray comments here and there. He wasn't going to pry, didn't want to know what she had done to silence the wagging tongues.

"You can stay with my mother; she'll know how to reach me if anything happens- that's the easy part. The hard part is figuring out how the hell we're going to keep the kid safe."

It was surreal, he didn't even have his own life in order- no guarantee that he was ready for the future or even remotely safe and now he would have to take care of someone else too. Damn irresponsible, verging on criminally insane.

"No one has to know it's yours."

"We haven't been very subtle."

They hadn't been subtle at all; for years he'd assumed Joss' presence had just been another trap set by Pike- hadn't entirely discounted the theory even now. It was convenient to find her here just after he had transferred, convenient that she was pregnant when he neared his second year of clinical research and prepared to renew that grant. A child would go a long way toward securing his cooperation.

"It's a long way to Georgia. No one would take any notice."

"Might give it away, you stayin' with my mother and all." Len's attempt at humor fell pitifully short; he was shocked he even had it in him.

"You're not the only one with family- I'll stay with mine. It shouldn't be too difficult to get a message to you when needed."

"You sure they'll keep it?"

Some small trace of his anxiety must have slipped through, because Jocelyn laid a steadying hand on his arm, caught his eyes with her own. "I will."

Leonard couldn't help but smile slightly at the edge in her tone; he forgot sometimes that Joss wasn't a scared little girl waiting for him to walk her home any more. She was as cut-throat as the rest when it suited her, and he believed wholeheartedly this new determination was genuine. Joss could be a little possessive of her belongings: notes, weapons, lovers- it would be interesting to see how it played out in this new development.

"We need to begin preparing immediately."

Joss nodded once, and Len gave thanks silently that he had at least one ally for now.

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Two months it had taken to secure Jocelyn a position at the bio-medical research lab in Atlanta, and every last favor the two of them were owed combined. Leonard wasn't fool enough to think they had managed to evade scrutiny, but he hoped they had been careful enough that one small aberration would be forgiven. He counted down the days to the expected delivery date, growing steadily more paranoid as time passed; Pike had already proven a vicious bastard, and Boyce wasn't much better.

Jocelyn commed him every other week to offer status updates; they had never been closer than they were those moments they were discussing "The Future". It was a pleasant fantasy, even if Leonard privately spent his time wondering when Joss would come to her senses and terminate the pregnancy, praying against hope she wouldn't. Every month was agony; he had already begun to assemble his things, knew the fleet could send for him at any time and that he would go willingly if for no other reason than to draw their attention away from his newest weakness.

He was shocked when Jocelyn commed to inform him that a few nights previously she had delivered a four pound nine ounce girl; the news didn't quite sink in until he had seen Joanna himself, small and wrinkled and fussing as loud as her tiny lungs would permit. Leonard McCoy lost his heart beyond any hope of redemption that day, and as it turned out his freedom wasn't long in following.

There was no proverbial knock on the door. Leonard arrived at the lab mere weeks later to hear that he was henceforth excused from duty and could report to the nearest transport station at 0900 the following day. Fantasies of garnering what credits he could and dropping off the grid danced through his head, but in the end, seven a.m. the next morning found him at the docking bay with a dozen other recruits trading suspicious glances and the occasional snarl when someone drew too close for comfort. Len tried to keep his head down and mouth shut, knowing this was only the first day of the rest of his life.

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Jim Kirk stepped boldly down from the shuttle, glancing about the landing pad for any sign of a threat; especially here at the academy there would be no such thing as over-caution. It was safest to assume that every last one of these bastards would kill to be in his position; rumor had spread fast that Pike was his benefactor, already he'd been forced to deal with a few cadets who thought that should have been their honor.

They were probably still in Iowa, maybe dead, or perhaps someone seeking a reward from the Imperial fleet had been greedy enough to risk turning them in to a representative. Jim regretted not killing them outright; it was a mistake that could cost him later if by some chance they ever made their way to San Francisco.

Predictably, Cupcake was the next to venture outside; Jim debated informing him that bandage covering the wreckage of his nose worked wonders for an otherwise unremarkable face. That one would certainly be trouble, but if he could engineer an assault out here in the open, no one would object to Jim's spirited defense of his person.

Pike stepped out immediately after, squelching any plans Jim had for managing affairs discreetly; his eyes said plainly if Jim started anything, he would finish it.

Jim flashed his best smile, all teeth but no intent; on this first day he would do what he could to avoid notice. As soon as Pike turned away however, Jim cast an inviting snarl in Cupcake's direction, just to let him know the invitation was open anytime he cared to take it; the glare he received in return assured him an acceptance wouldn't be long in coming. What the hell was the ape's name anyway? Might be a good thing to find out, gathering information was never a waste of time.

He followed the sea of red uniforms straight to the convocation hall, knowing Pike wouldn't dare to interfere with him now unless his actions took a truly remarkable turn. Jim anticipated spending quite a bit of time with Pike and an agony booth this first semester.

When he had asked about the Fleet's regulations concerning personal vendettas and the extracurricular settling of them last night at the bar, Chris had half-smiled "Figure it out for yourself."

He might as well have said "Sic 'em."

It was going to be touch and go these first few months, learning what constituted acceptable violence and what was clearly out of bounds; after that, it would be a question of how far past those boundaries he could push before the consequences became dire. Jim had no doubt Pike would teach him everything he needed to know about that before his time at the academy was through.

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Leonard jumped at the pressure of a hand on his shoulder, "Inattention like that is going to get you killed- you should stay in sickbay tonight, lock down a room." M'Benga muttered, "It's already dark, and Ramsay is stalking the halls like he's waiting for a volunteer."

"Sign me up." Leonard growled. "I won't be pinned here like a damned animal. I want my own bed."

"I think you might be half as crazy as Chapel."

"Don't call her that."

He felt more than heard Geoff's sigh, "I've done my due diligence; you want to fuck with fate, be my guest."

Len waited until the sound of footsteps had faded away, counted off a few seconds more for caution's sake before he gathered up his PADD and tissue samples, tucking them into his bag with exquisite care.

A short, shrill scream sounded, raising the hairs on his neck and curdling the blood in his veins. It was none of his affair what happened outside these walls, his only duty was to pick up the pieces afterward, mend the wounds that could be detected with a tricorder, soothe those that were too deep for even the most advanced tech to reach- that's what he told himself, but he was already hurrying for the door before the thought was even finished.

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The darkness was nearly absolute, all the lights long the path extinguished and the moon covered mostly by clouds; for a moment he felt a familiar panic spreading through him, but only for a moment. Len could as easily use the shadows as the one that had engineered this encounter, and he had the advantage of surprise.

Leonard forgot to breathe, too intent on detecting the source of the pitiable sound that had struck his ear; a wheezing breath and the sharp crack of a skull colliding with pavement were enough to set him on the right course. He hurried around the corner of the building, discarding his bag in the grass, uncaring of who might happen by. The junior cadets knew better than to interfere in a fight that was none of their making, and the seniors rarely prowled so close to sickbay.

He barreled into a solid body hard enough to throw both of them off balance, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and teeth; the body beneath his was slender and strong as a whip, unforgiving fingers left bruises over his ribs, sharp teeth locked into his forearm and bit down ruthlessly while his own fist fell again and again on an unprotected head. Assuming he won this fight, and the odds were looking increasingly slim, it seemed he would have three patients to treat- himself included.

Len chanced a look up, taking in the sight of an unmoving body sprawled not more than a foot away. For a moment he thought the cadet might be dead, but then the chest rose steadily once, stopped.

"Goddamn it, kid! This is not the time for your fuckin' games; get your teeth out of my arm or I will cut out your tongue with a blunt scalpel first chance I get!" Spoken even in desperation, the words sent a shiver of unholy memory through him; he had long since learned those were better left suppressed.

Laughter. The body beneath him convulsed with it, teeth sinking deeper for a split second before the punishing jaws unclenched. "Med cadet. Fucking med cadet."

It was almost like fate, the way the clouds chose to part at that very moment, subtle moonlight illuminating the scene. Leonard could make out the vague outline of a face, the flash of light on teeth as the other cadet carelessly licked the blood from his lips, almost seeming to savor it; Leonard shuddered in mute disgust.

Feeling no more resistance in the relaxed body, Len began to push himself up slowly, muscles in his arm seizing with agony while his body took stock of the damage.

He stifled a gasp, feeling the arch of too-slender hips beneath him; the unmistakable feel of the other man's arousal. Geoff was right, one of these days he was going to get himself killed, fucked, or both; he prayed it wouldn't be tonight.

"You want to get the hell off me?" A thin voice hissed, rich with amusement, and no small amount of threat.

"I'd like nothing better. You want to let me go?"

The cadet's eyes flared slightly with surprise; his fingers slowly released their death grip of Leonard's ribs, leaving the ache of contusions behind.

"Who the hell is this?" Leonard rasped, not bothering to stand. If this kid wanted to kill him, he could do it while Leonard crawled as easily as if he took the time to gain his feet.

"Cupcake is the only name I know." The cadet stood, circling Leonard in much the same way a feral dog might corner its prey; not a comforting comparison. Leonard spared a moment to assess the kid's injuries, losing himself in professionalism when all else failed. Several visible abrasions and contusions; he could check for a concussion as soon as he could get the kid to the infirmary. The stripe on his suit said first year; a new shuttle had arrived this afternoon, and given that he'd never seen this cadet's face among his many patients, it was a fair bet he'd just arrived.

"Help me get him up." If he acted as though he had the ability to enforce that order, experience had taught him that most cadets would obey without question. This one only cocked his head, studying Leonard curiously.

"Why?" The tone was flat and betrayed no inkling of his thoughts, even to Len's sensitive ears.

"I think you fractured his skull."

"And?" It was a genuine question with no hint of sarcasm to color it.

"Look kid-"

"Don't call me that."

Len was wise enough to heed the warning, very few cadets were so merciful as to even give one. "I need to get this treated, and I don't want to jostle him too much."

Fucking Ramsay was probably still slinking through the hallways looking for anyone stupid enough to be caught alone in his sector of the infirmary. Ramsay was the same year as Leonard, but still hadn't managed anything sufficiently noteworthy to attract a benefactor; his recent experiments were drawing considerable attention, though, and Len wasn't keen on becoming one of them.

Slowly the cadet approached, never taking his eyes from Leonard even as he slipped beneath Cupcake's other arm, hoisting him a little higher with no detectable trace of effort. Who the hell was this kid?

"Where to, doc?" Deceptively compliant, Len didn't buy the easy-going act for a second.

"Straight up the walk to the nearest bio-bed."

It was no mean feat, maneuvering Cupcake into the building while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on his attacker. Len's arm had begun to sting like a sonuvabitch and visions of creeping infection unfurled before his mind's eye; who knew what these new cadets were carrying? Not one of them had reported for their first of many routine physicals yet.

He could feel the kid's eyes on him even as they combined their strength to lift Cupcake onto a bio-bed, considering him like some foreign species newly discovered.

"Damn. Hairline fracture; you could've killed him, K-… cadet."

"I meant to, doctor." The gleam in the kid's eye suggested he yet might if Len turned his back for more than a moment, but his smile was as warm as the sun.

Geoff was wrong, Christine was the very model of normalcy when compared to this bastard; "crazy" didn't even begin to cover it.

"What's your name?" Leonard asked as he studiously avoiding the kid's focused gaze; he probably wouldn't get an answer, but it was at least worth the effort.

"James Tiberius Kirk." Spoken with a quiet pride that Len couldn't understand. "And yours?"

He hesitated for a split second, saw the kid's eyes harden ominously. "Fair is fair, doctor."

"Leonard Horatio McCoy." He'd rather not have confessed his full name, but Kirk looked capable of enforcing his "fair" rules, and that was a fight he didn't need right now.

"Leonard." The kid's mouth twisted, but he didn't speak further.

"And his name is Hendorff." Len gestured to the pliant form on the table, desperate to draw attention away from himself. Good to know he wasn't the only one with an embarrassing middle name, 'Gregory Percival Hendorff' wasn't going to win any awards either.

Kirk snorted, "I think I like Cupcake better."

Leonard was fairly certain his opinion on the matter wouldn't count, so he elected to turn his attention to seeing to Hendorff's injuries.

"How do you know him?" Kirk was nonchalantly propping up the wall, eyes following Leonard's hands like he might go for that blunt scalpel he'd been threatening at any moment.

"I don't."

"Don't fuck with me." Kirk snarled.

Len's temper was dangerously frayed,"The hell is your problem? Every word I say is a lie 'cause you don't like my answers? I'm a fucking doctor, that mean anything to you?"

It was a rhetorical question, which was just as well since Kirk didn't seem inclined to answer; the kid moved a little closer, hopping up on an unoccupied bed with all the grace of a panther. "Third year med cadet- that doesn't make you a doctor."

"This ain't my first time 'round the block, kid. It's Doctor Leonard McCoy, with all attending rights, privileges, and responsibilities." He gestured to the cadet on the table, thankfully beginning to squirm now. It would be best to leave him unconscious, let him rest in lieu of pumping him full of painkillers.

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Jim was too shocked even to register McCoy's intentional use of the diminutive; he was still trying to process that this idiot would tackle a complete stranger in total darkness for the sake of… another stranger- someone he cared nothing for beyond some imagined sense of duty.

It was a new thought, an idea he hadn't encountered too often before except from the mouths of fools stupid enough to find themselves on the wrong side of Imperial justice. He'd never even considered that there could be someone like this in the Fleet, wasn't sure he believed it even now.

McCoy had turned back to his patient, ignoring the tricorder's readings in favor of taking Cupcake's pulse by hand, head cocked as though he listened for the sound of even was furious, that was plain, but his movements were both gentle and efficient- none of his anger translated into his treatment of the patient. Jim was reluctantly impressed, and decidedly intrigued.

"Doctor does mean something to me."

McCoy started, not expecting the conversation to continue, obviously; Jim wasn't done with him yet, not by half. Not until he knew precisely what it was that made Leonard McCoy tick, how he'd lasted this long at the academy.

"Better access to chemicals otherwise difficult to obtain. I might have a use for you, Leonard."

"Not interested, Kirk." Flat and defensive, perfectly serious; no matter, any man could be had for a price. Three bars on his uniform- third year student; he'd already had to cut a few deals here and there then.

"Sure I can't tempt you?"

He started to push himself from the bed, but Leonard turned and glared ferociously, stalking over stiffly. "Stay right there. I wa'n't much more gentle with you than you were with him."

Furtively Jim fingered the knife tucked at the edge of his belt, leaning back on the bed to provide the best target. The minute the good doctor tried anything, it was over.

"Can I touch you?" McCoy raised his hands, sleeves falling back to bare his wrists. No weapons, but a few fading scars that looked like they might be the result of being nicked by something sharp. Interesting.

"Be my guest." Jim's smile was an invitation to sin that McCoy decided to ignore, hands running over him impersonally, poking at the rips in his uniform, prodding cuts and bruises. Jim bore it all patiently, allowing McCoy to thumb back his eyelids and examine his pupils closely, run that damn tricorder over him with its incessant beeping that was an assault on his ears.

"You're all right; we'll let the bruises heal naturally, I'll see to some of the deeper cuts." McCoy sounded genuinely relieved, and that infuriated Jim beyond reason.

First he inflicted injury and then regretted it enough that he wanted to make any trace of it disappear? What was the point of his fighting in the first place if he wanted it to leave no mark? This man made no fucking sense and the sheer riddle he presented was both alluring and infinitely confusing.

Confusion was not a state Jim tolerated well.

A spiteful impulse made Jim grab at the arm that he'd sunk his teeth into not half an hour past, dig his blunt nails into the abraded skin until McCoy paled and gritted his teeth, yanking away viciously. "Then I guess I came out better than you."

"Guess you did." McCoy gritted out, fury and pain mingling in his strangled voice. "I'll see to myself first so you'll stop gloating about it."

First he'd said, meaning he still intended to see to the man that had deliberately hurt him not once but twice. Stupid bastard. Jim couldn't help but wonder what it would take to show him the error of his ways.

Jim asked the question foremost in his mind, letting it slip out before he could remember to bite his tongue. "How did you even end up here?"

"With the other ravening sawbones that can't tell their heads from their asses?" McCoy laughed bitterly, and there was a quality to his laughter that struck an echoing chord in Jim.

"It's a story I'm not inclined to share with some punk I just dragged in from outside." Jim allowed the comment to slide; there were more pressing questions now.

The door hissed open and Jim shoved McCoy away, spinning to face it defensively. A short, nondescript man strode through, hair already receding and shoulders much too thin for the cadet reds he wore.

"What's going on, Leonard?"

"None of your damn business, Ramsay."

Jim recognized the smile that spread over Ramsay's face as a pale imitation of his own knowing smirk.

"Looks like you've got company. That is my business, Leonard. Have they been logged in?" He sounded hopeful, and that put Jim's hackles up quicker than if the man had actually drawn a weapon.

"Both of 'em."

Someone should really tell Leonard McCoy he was an awful liar; his eyes slid away and his fingers jerked, his eyelids flickering just a little too fast.

Disappointment shadowed Ramsay's face for a split second before that smile slipped into place once more. "Is Christine off duty yet?"

"Went home hours ago, took a couple hypos with her, in case you're wonderin'," Another guilty twitch.

"Shame." Ramsay tutted.

For his part, Jim was more than a little annoyed at the interruption, and this looked like one of the ravening sawbones McCoy had been talking about.

"Doctor McCoy told you to get out, are you having trouble finding the door?" Watery eyes switched their focus to him and Jim grinned openly, knowing there was still a little of his own blood to stain his teeth.

Ramsay's face twisted, with one final glare in McCoy's direction he scurried out the door faster than he'd come. Prey always knew its predator, so Winona had always said; apparently that held true even at this academy.

"Don't let him catch you on the way out." McCoy muttered. "Nasty rumors floatin' around." He packed away the regenerator, eyeing his work with satisfaction. "I'll lock the ward down, let this one have little sleep. Christine can keep watch."

"I thought she went home hours ago?" Jim smirked.

McCoy shrugged, " 'S true; she sleeps in the surveillance room and she's got more than a couple hypos for dealing with Ramsay or anyone else that disturbs your friend here."

Jim bridled slightly at McCoy's casual use of the word; it wasn't something to be used lightly, and especially not here.

McCoy tidied the area quickly, casting worried looks in Jim's direction every now and again, at the door and at the cadet asleep on the bed. Jim still hadn't left yet; he didn't know the kid's angle, but he'd had enough excitement tonight to last the week if these crazy monsters would let him have the rest. He turned to go, unwilling to leave Hendorff alone in the room with a man that had professed to attempted murder not so very long ago.

"You don't need to stay the night. I suggest you head to your dorm before it gets any later; you're already looking at time in the booth for missing curfew."

"Are you going to report this?" There was no particular concern in the query, only curiosity.

"I won't if you keep your mouth shut. Ramsay wouldn't dare, and Chapel doesn't speak. If you're worried about this one, I think he'll be too busy regretting the headache he's going to wake up with."

Even beneath the harsh lights of the infirmary, Jim Kirk looked like light given flesh; golden hair charmingly ruffled, fathomless blue eyes that trapped and held his gaze every time he dared to look too deeply into them; there was a shadow beneath even his brightest smiles that set Leonard on edge- like there was a wild creature lurking just beneath the face of the man, a spirit that had refused to break or perhaps one that had already been marvelously shattered beyond any hope of repair.

For a healer it was a compelling challenge; for a wise man it was a warning.

Satan himself will come as an angel of light. Leonard remembered that from some shadowed corner of his memory- the words had never been more apt than now.

He shook himself free from the musing, forced himself to turn his back on Kirk though every instinct warned him against it.

Kirk chuckled mirthlessly, "All right, Bones. I'll play."

"Don't call me that." Beneath the gruff words was a very real fear; what the hell kind of game did Jim think they were playing and how could he forfeit?


	4. Keeping Company

No tags needed; there's a change.

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Leonard realized he was being followed less than ten minutes after exiting the clinic; it didn't take much to figure out who it must be. Damn it, hadn't he told Kirk to head back to his dorm before he earned himself a little extra time in the booth? Now they were both going to be on the hook for violating curfew, and Len didn't think his superiors would care much whether he'd been out making mischief or tending to a legitimate medical emergency.

He forced himself to walk a few steps along the unlit path, attuned to even the minutest detail of the terrain. His first week on campus had shown him what a moment's inattention could cost; three years and he had mastered the talent of dividing his attention equally between his thoughts and surroundings, constantly scanning for potential menaces.

James Kirk certainly qualified as that, at least until he knew whether the kid's parting words had been threat or promise: "I'll play" indeed. Nothing about this place was a fucking game, anyone who said otherwise had to be insane or insanely influential; on his first day, Kirk couldn't be either.

As he rounded the corner leading to the med cadet's compound, what little patience Leonard still possessed failed him; Jim Kirk was a predator, predators were supposed to respond to challenges- mustering his courage he finally managed to call out, "You just gonna follow me, or do you want to walk me home?"

Len winced at the slightly breathless quality of his own voice, thin and strained with fear. He didn't want to fight tonight, not now after he'd just patched those stupid cadets up; besides, Jim Kirk seemed like the type that wouldn't stop until he was damned good and sure his opponent was dead. Leonard had a healthy respect for human life, particularly his own.

Kirk materialized from thin air, almost as though he had simply shed a protective cloak; it was damned unnerving. Unconcernedly Jim stalked toward him with an oddly graceful gait; no cadet carried themselves so proudly as that, inevitably what spirit they had left was always used up before they had even stepped off the shuttle. Evidently no one had thought to inform Jim Kirk of that.

"I might as well keep you company." Jim smiled sweetly, and Leonard felt a shiver of foreboding race down his spine.

"What the hell are you doing here? Didn't I say it was past curfew? You'll be in the agony booth by tomorrow morning and you'll have no one to blame for it but yourself!"

Jim's smile vanished, and Len couldn't decide whether he should be relieved or worried until the kid began to speak. "I would have been back sooner if you hadn't interfered."

Worried. Definitely worried. Leonard tried to surreptitiously slide his fingertips around the singular hypo he had smuggled from the supply room; Kirk's eyes followed the movement of his hand almost eagerly.

"You'd be safe, and that other kid would be dead. It was a fair exchange."

"Then you determined it was worth the risk of essentially trading your life for his?" Kirk's smile was back in place and twice as chilling.

"Just fucking try it."

"It was a question, not a threat. But if you're going to be offended." Kirk shrugged, "I could have killed you before you ever had me inside the clinic if that was what I wanted."

Leonard had his own opinion on that score, but challenging this kid to a pissing contest was the very last item on his bucket list.

"If you're not here to make trouble then what the hell do you want, Kirk?"

"Jim."

It was uttered in the same tone as his warning on the hazards of referring to him as "kid." Leonard took the hint.

"What the hell do you want, Jim?"

"I'm not sure yet." Len shifted uncomfortably under Jim's intense scrutiny, slowly drawing his hand from his pocket; he didn't want to set the kid off.

So long did they stand there in stifling silence that Leonard could swear he jumped a full inch off the ground when Kirk spoke again, advancing steadily on him. "You'll have to log your entry back into your quarters. That is standard procedure for medical cadets, isn't it?"

Leonard didn't even want to know how Jim Kirk had managed to ferret out that little detail. Starfleet medical was notoriously protective of its security protocols; most likely because the rest of the fucking cadets thought they were little more than meat. A visit to medbay invariably convinced them otherwise, but there was always that one fool that was a little slow to learn, and armed fools were dangerous fools.

"I guess." Not his most articulate answer, but at least he hadn't volunteered any information either; like the minor detail that if he didn't scan in sometime during the next hour, an alert would be issued to anyone that had shared his shift tonight. Christine would have no trouble accessing the security footage, and no compunction about seeing to it that Jim Kirk's next visit to medical would be his last.

Jim nodded as though he could see every thought reflected on Len's face, and it was entirely possible he could; Len had the feeling those piercing eyes didn't miss much.

"Then there is no way for you to avoid the booth either, so why are you here?" They were practically toe-to-toe now, and Leonard didn't dare give an inch for fear of how much Jim might take.

"Couldn't stay in the infirmary all night, not with Ramsay there. I hate the fucking booth, but it's better than winding up in Ramsay's little lab of cheap horrors. One I can heal, the other I can't."

To his surprise, Jim stepped around him, continuing on his way and clearly expecting Leonard to simply fall into step behind him. Infuriatingly enough, that was precisely what he did, more from shock than anything else.

"Then you're going to the booth to save your own skin."

"I'm going to the booth because you decided to kill some hapless moron outside my sickbay while I was on duty."

"_Your_ sickbay?"

Len clamped his teeth shut, if the kid was going to play parrot, there was no use trying to talk with him.

His resolution lasted for all of a minute, "Where the hell are you going?"

"With you." Jim shrugged.

"What? To my rooms? I'm sure you've been assigned quarters-"

"Do you really want me to leave you alone?"

Leonard took a moment to truly consider it; on the one hand, the thought of Kirk knowing where he slept was a little daunting. On the other, there might be scarier things than Jim Kirk out tonight; full moons in festival months were not a time to be caught alone, and since he had received such a gracious offer of company…

"No. Stay."

Jim only nodded as though that had been the answer he expected all along.

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Leonard McCoy was only proving more interesting by the minute; originally Jim had intended nothing more than to stay and see what the doctor did as soon as he had vacated the area- did he and Cupcake have an arrangement? Was it an elaborate set-up to convince Jim to start back to his dorm so they could ambush him in tandem?

Cupcake had been the one to pass so near the infirmary, he'd made directly for it as soon as the formalities had been dealt with; to Jim's mind, that spoke of a patron. Most of the cadets had them, other cadets that had made a helpful suggestion or two, advisers that had smoothed their way when they applied to Starfleet… there were very few like Christopher Pike, but any cadet with a potential ally was one to keep an eye on.

Jim could see the merit of having a 'friend' from medical very well, and while Cupcake didn't strike him as the cleverest bastard on campus, there was enough inherent cunning there that he had somehow managed to avoid Jim's notice all day, and damn near got the drop on him outside Medical's walls too.

He regretted not dispatching the cadet when he had the chance, but McCoy had been a very neat distraction from his task. If he had wanted to kill Cupcake, he would have had to take the doctor too, and that would have been a regrettable waste of potential.

Glancing briefly to Bones, Jim picked up his pace; the darkness was obviously upsetting the doctor, his eyes hadn't once paused in their restless survey of the area- smart man. Jim wondered how much of his concern was born of the lateness of the hour and how much of it related to the company he was keeping.

Jim could have told him he was in no danger just now; in fact, as long as Bones continued to be a riddle he was the safest being on campus. It was not in Jim's nature to destroy what he could not understand, that would only lead to trouble later if he ever encountered such an anomaly again He had to know whether Bones was truly as selfless as he seemed or if there was a more ominous agenda guiding his actions- either possibility was threatening.

Bones had to have some sort of agenda; he could not have advanced so far without a little blood on his hands or a few secrets better left unspoken; Jim would make it his business to unearth every one in those hours class did not occupy. He would have to work fast; another year and Bones would graduate, no telling which ship he would be assigned.

If, however, Bones was genuinely as he seemed it could prove both opportunity and challenge.

A man that could not be manipulated by vice would need to be controlled in other ways, one that was not susceptible to the temptation of power would have to be seduced carefully. If Leonard McCoy could not be coerced by any of the standard methods counted acceptable by the fleet, it would make him the singular most unpredictable enemy- or ally- Jim could have

He needed to make Bones his partner either way; even managing to engender such doubt placed him leagues beyond any of the other ham-handed opponents Jim had dealt with so easily. Jim wasn't one for letting curiosities slip through his fingers too soon, especially when they came in attractive packages. No, there was really no reason he and Bones couldn't enjoy a mutually satisfactory alliance in every way.

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Goddamn but the kid was making him nervous; his lips were frozen in a perpetual smirk that Leonard suspected wasn't so much deliberate as conditioned. Anyone that saw that smile would likely decide there was easier prey to be had, as Jim had probably learned from bitter experience.

"Bitter experience" was not a hard commodity to come by in the academy; Starfleet had long been known as a haven for the desperate or depraved, preferably both. Len knew which category he fit into, and it didn't take much to guess Jim's temperament either; which was precisely why his skin was itching like he'd come down with a case of Flaxian mumps.

It should have set off all his alarms when Jim had agreed to leave so easily following their encounter at the infirmary. He had slid from the table, brushing by Leonard casually as he strode out the door, not even turning back once. Len had actually been a little concerned for Ramsay, presumably malingering somewhere in one of the larger wards, nursing his disappointment with a glass of the Saurian brandy he kept on the premises for "medicinal" purposes.

Another small part of him had entertained a brief but pleasant fancy that perhaps Jim would meet Ramsay in the hall and take as much of a dislike to him as he had to Hendorff. A man could hope.

Those malicious thoughts had rebounded on him twofold; not only had he somehow managed to attract this psycho's interest, but now the bastard would know his preferred route to his dorm. Damnation. He'd just been getting comfortable using this little path and now he was going to have to return to the old habit of varying his comings and goings.

Leonard couldn't wait to get out of this nest of vipers; life on a starship would be a little safer at least, the ship had to run smoothly or discipline would collapse. It would be in a captain's best interest to see that his medics were left out of the political maneuvering of the rest of the crew for the sake of efficiency if nothing else; he could make sickbay his own little haven in the chaos.

But in order to get there, he would have to survive this proving ground first, and it looked like he had just made his first serious mistake. Would Boyce even give a damn if he lost one of his chosen cadets or was he ready to write off a few here and there in exchange for other considerations? Len couldn't be sure, he'd done everything within his power to avoid Boyce since he'd arrived that first day, and been largely successful. His encounters with Pike were limited to a handful of disciplinary sessions, all of them overseen by his individual instructors.

Logging in so late as this it looked like he would have another such encounter to look forward to in the morning, but there was some measure of satisfaction in knowing he wouldn't be alone.

He glanced at Kirk again, taking in the lithe stride and tilted chin; the silence was beginning to wear on his nerves, and there was more to it than a lack of conversation. Kirk moved like a fucking ghost, quiet enough that Len had to stifle his breathing just to hear the soft whisper of fabric.

Hell, clearly he was going to have to be the one to speak first. "I thought you left the infirmary a solid half-hour before I did."

Jim spared him a calculating look before turning back to the path. "Obviously I didn't."

"Obviously." Len snapped, "Why not?"

"We went over this."

"Not to my satisfaction, we didn't." He knew this wasn't the time to play 'poke-the-tiger', but he just couldn't let it rest.

Jim shrugged unconcernedly, "I wanted to see if you were going to dismiss Cupcake."

"I already told you-"

"That you're not in league. I haven't decided if I believe you."

Well, honesty was refreshing at least; most of the cadets were as subtle as pit vipers and twice as mean, but that calm, thoughtful tone set the hairs on his neck prickling.

"What do I stand to gain from associating with some greenhorn fresh off the shuttle? Nothing so far as I c'n see; you're looking for a connection that just isn't there." Shit, he'd nearly slipped and called him 'kid' again; that was a line he didn't want to cross tonight- maybe not ever.

"That would depend on who else he's connected to. Maybe Pike, for instance."

Leonard barked a laugh, "You think Captain Christopher Pike is going to put his money on some cadet with more brawn than brains? Hell, if Hendorff was one of his, he'd probably come to sickbay and dispatch the poor fool himself for bein' an embarrassment. Pike's the meanest son of a bitch on campus, and unfortunately you're probably gonna meet him first thing tomorrow."

Jim gave an honest to heaven giggle, and that smirk dissolved into a genuine smile for a split second; god, but he had a pretty face- the better to hide ugly intentions, Len was sure.

"I take it you know Pike _intimately_?" Leonard didn't much care for that insinuating tone, neither the sharp glance that accompanied it.

"Pike has no use for cadets; not in the way you're thinking." Jim relaxed almost imperceptibly, "But I've met him a time or two, and he's not one you want to cross."

Every time Chris Pike decided to give a problem his undivided attention it was invariably resolved within the hour; usually in a manner calculated to inflict a crippling blow on any parties involved. Even admirals stepped a little lighter outside his office; scuttlebutt had it that he'd turned down two offers of promotion, still drawn to the captain's chair and all its attendant glories.

Jim hummed softly, "It would be wise to make him an ally then."

Len snorted, "Pike doesn't ally with cadets, none of the captains do. The admirals have their favorites that they change as often as their bedsheets, but it's better to just keep your head down and mouth shut."

Jim Kirk looked like the type that wouldn't manage either one of those particularly well, but Len rested secure in the knowledge that he had done his duty. If Jim Kirk ended up sobbing out his dying breath in some dark corner of the academy, he couldn't say he hadn't been warned.

The C-Block came into view when they rounded the corner, and silence fell between them once more. There was a new quality to this silence, something Len couldn't quite put his finger on, but it was a safe kind of quiet at least and he thanked his lucky stars for that.

"You want to leave off here or is there somethin' you wanted to say?" Leonard caught his trembling fingers reaching for that hypo again, this time Jim didn't so much as glance in his direction.

"I want us to be friends, Bones."

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The look of incredulous dismay on McCoy's face was one Jim knew he would savor for weeks to come. The man was so easy to read, every emotion reflected tellingly in his hazel eyes, from fear to intrigue to suspicion and then to anger; his brow wrinkled in confusion, lip curling in what could soon become scorn.

Again, Jim found himself wondering how Bones had lasted this long; his patron wasn't Pike, not with that obvious enmity at the very mention of the name, but it couldn't be someone far behind him in power or Leonard McCoy wouldn't be so choosy about the company he kept. Either that, or his reputation was such that no one had dared to cross him until now. Jim was fairly certain if that had been the case he would have heard his name mentioned a few times during the mandatory orientation.

In the end though it didn't really matter what Bones had or hadn't done before Jim arrived; whom he'd pandered to or who he'd killed and for what cause. All that mattered now was whether he recognized the value of another ally or whether that scorn would manifest itself in a refusal.

"I think I must've misheard." Bones waited expectantly, but Jim held his silence, watching those eyes for the man's traitorous thoughts.

"What the hell do you want with me?" Jim could hear the undertone of "And what the hell am I supposed to do with you?" He had faith in Bones' abilities, give him enough time and Jim was sure Bones would find all manner of creative uses for him; he'd had a few ideas himself.

"You're not prying any restricted substances out of me, Kirk. I will not be pulled up before a committee on that charge, and if you think you can use me as your own pet killer you can just put that thought out of your thick head too."

Jim let that last one pass in the interest of peace; there was no one here to witness the little defiance, and if they were going to be allies then Bones was entitled to a few privileges.

"If I wanted your meds I would have them, and if I wanted to kill someone I would also want them to know precisely why. I want you as a doctor."

"There's no shortage of those in medical."

"Wrong. There's no shortage of bloody-minded sadists in Starfleet medical." _You would know_. Jim let the thought flash across his expression, caught Bones' answering sneer. "Sooner rather than later I'm going to end up in one of those beds again, and if you'll watch out for me while I'm in there, I'll look out for you here."

"I've been doing that well enough three years and counting."

"Which is why you jump at shadows and risk the agony booth to avoid cadets that might not have turned in after curfew."

"I'd've been home over an hour ago if you hadn't decided to whale on Hendorff."

It wasn't an outright refusal, only a statement of fact. It wouldn't be much of a partnership if Bones was the only one with skills to offer. Clearly he needed a demonstration of what Jim Kirk could accomplish when motivated; there was really no need for Bones to dirty his hands any farther. He had no taste for it, while Jim thrived in adversity.

Bones was still eyeing him like he might decide to pounce on a moment's notice; it wasn't a half-bad idea, but Jim discarded it as quickly as it had come. This was his chance to see exactly what incentive might lure Bones into a partnership, an opportunity to discover the best way to manage him down the line. If a simple appeal to Bones' self-preservation instinct didn't work, then he could apply himself to finding another method.

"You don't need to make a decision now, of course." Jim stared off into the distance as if just remembering some important detail; it was purely for show, Jim never forgot any of the festival days, never failed to partake in the revelries. "Ostara isn't more than a couple weeks away; you should take the time to consider it. Give me your answer then."

Bones scowled darkly and Jim smiled back. For all his scruples concerning the proper treatment of patients, there wasn't a foolish bone in the doctor's body. Jim would have gladly laid his life on that- life being his least precious possession.

"I think I'll leave you here-"

"Where the devil do you think you're going?" Bones sounded positively indignant, Jim was of half a mind to inform him in the sternest way possible that it was none of his affair. Once again he reigned in his temper; Bones was still an enigma, and Jim didn't want to make his duty any more challenging than necessary.

"It's a nice night for a walk."

"Are you fucking insane? Curfew is past and anyone still out now is either a monster or-"

Jim was already loping away, cutting away from the dim walkway out into the darker landscape. There would be a trip to the booth in this either way, whether it was an hour or two hardly made a difference to him. His blood was fairly singing as it coursed through his veins, not even a day in his new home and he had already found several pleasant diversions; it would do no good to return to his dorm just now, he would only pace like a caged animal.

At least out here there was always the chance of finding another like-minded creature.

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Leonard was rudely wakened by his chirping comm not an hour an after dawn the following morning, having just managed to coax his restless mind into sleeping not three hours past, he was somewhat the worse for wear. Any trace of that fatigue was banished as soon as he saw the figures crawling across his screen. Fuck. The booth it was, and if he wanted to make his appointment he was going to have to hurry.

Len knew any delay would cost him dearly, which was why he stumbled from his quarters not twelve minutes later, toothpaste still dotting his unshaven jaw, hair a fly-away mess that was sure to earn him a warning, and still struggling to do up his uniform buttons correctly.

He was halfway to his destination before he realized he'd forgotten both his hat and agonizer. Shit. That wasn't going to be easy to explain; he prayed to any god that might be listening that Pike wouldn't be there, prayed that by some miracle of fate he might actually have earned nothing more than penance duty.

Of course, all of that was in vain; the fates loved nothing more than to muck up the affairs of Leonard McCoy- he'd suspected it for years, but when he raced up the steps to the security room where the booths were kept and found not only Christopher Pike but Jim Kirk waiting patiently, he knew it for truth.

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"I'm still not clear on why I've been called here." Jim murmured, keeping his gaze locked with that of Captain Pike, apparently the supervisor of his first, but certainly not last, session here.

"Logs show you never checked in after curfew last night."

"Ergo I was not in violation of it."

"Ergo you haven't been to your quarters since orientation yesterday; you're in violation of academy regulation, Kirk. Don't make this any worse for yourself than it has to be."

That was Pike for: "I will fry you in there if I hear another word of protest."

Jim was all about testing boundaries. "I haven't-"

Pike's steely gaze fixed him in place just as footsteps began to echo in the hall.

"Don't make me regret inviting your new friend, Kirk."

Bones stumbled through the door, red-eyed and panting, uniform askew and all manner of disheveled. It was a good look for him, and one which Jim Kirk intended to encourage henceforth.

"One of these days, old man, I want to know all about your sources." He'd been so careful last night not to draw too near the compound lest their conversation be overheard; he was certain no one else had been present to overhear. How the hell had Pike known about that impromptu invitation?

"Work hard, son, and maybe one day you'll be able to pry them out of me."

One day he would, Jim promised himself. The same day he stole the captain's chair of the Enterprise from under Chris Pike's ass, but that day would be long in coming. Jim was a patient man.

"Cadet McCoy. Good of you to join us at last."

Bones froze, snapping to attention as though he hadn't just been struggling with his buttons a bare second ago. "Sir." He was wise enough not to offer any excuse for his tardiness, raising him several notches in Jim's estimation.

"What are you doing here, Bones?" Jim smiled innocently, for all the world as though he didn't know the inner turmoil he was causing. It was worth Pike's warning hiss just to see McCoy's surprise and disbelief, the dawning comprehension that lit his face.

Pike and Jim both started when Bones offered a cocky grin, tension fleeing his body as quickly as it had come. His unease was still plainly visible in the set of his shoulders, the darkening of his eyes but his voice betrayed only confidence when he spoke. "I'm just here to keep you company, kid."

Bones might have come a bit late to the game, but the good doctor certainly knew how to make up for lost time.


	5. Mutual Instruction

Two chapters today, and nary a tag in sight for this one!

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Philip Boyce didn't even bother to look up from his PADD when Chris strode through his doorway shortly after the noon hour; it was obvious from the cadence of his walk he was in an exceptionally good mood, meaning he wasn't likely to take offense at being half-ignored.

Not that Phil had ever particularly concerned himself with the myriad things Christopher Pike might choose to be offended by; it was one of the reasons they had remained such good partners even after all these years of being grounded.

"I take it you're pleased with Kirk?" Boyce allowed a little amusement to bleed into his voice, but not enough to make Chris think he was mocking the boy; that might just be enough to trigger the infamously black temper of Captain Pike. Being in a bit of a temper himself, Phil thought at least one of them should play at being rational this afternoon.

Chris had been quite taken with his bar-brawling recruit, uncharacteristically forthcoming on the many ways he intended to ensure Jim Kirk would sit in his own captain's chair soon. It was enough to make a lesser man jealous; for his part, Phil was just glad Chris had found something to take his mind off the mind-numbing boredom of waiting for the completion of his soon-to-be-ship.

"'Pleased' isn't the right word. He deliberately flouted curfew last night; we had an appointment with the booth this morning."

"I heard."

Pike glared and Boyce fell silent, falling back into old habits. "One of these days, Phil, I'm going to pry the name of every one of your informants out of that stubborn mouth."

"Didn't Jim Kirk say something similar this morning?" Phil knew well he was one of the very few people on campus that could bait the beast and come out of it relatively unscathed; he seized the advantage at every opportunity, and when that vaunted self-control snapped, enjoyed every minute of Pike's creative vengeances.

Chris' pale eyes narrowed threateningly, and Boyce leaned away, reaching for the mini liquor cabinet he kept just behind his desk. "Better idea, I'll pour us a drink and you can tell me what he said."

No, Chris would not be so easily distracted, but Phil didn't particularly give a damn; there was too much history between them for him to be seriously threatened by a few dark glances and sharp words. Besides, McCoy wouldn't want his name dragged into this conversation, and Boyce didn't want to confess that he'd had Leonard in here not an hour after his encounter with Pike, grilling him on every detail concerning James Kirk.

Pike accepted a small snifter of Saurian brandy, swishing it lightly to check for any inconsistency; Phil tried his hardest not to glare, knowing it was more habit than anything else. It was the kind of habit that had seen Chris Pike surviving not one, but two assignments in prominent ships as captain. That and a gifted CMO with a reputation for ensuring his captain's enemies never outlived their usefulness.

The question Phil now faced was figuring out how he was supposed to inform Chris he wouldn't be coming along on this next adventure; not wanting to spoil the other man's high spirits, he resolved to wait until they had polished off several more brandies and exchanged a few stories about their proteges' respective accomplishments.

"I didn't come here to talk exclusively about Jim."

Boyce arched an inquisitive brow, "No?"

Pike took another sip of his drink, plainly savoring it. Sheer perversity, Phil suspected, Chris had always loved waiting until his sense of anticipation was at a fever pitch. Today he would humor him and demand an immediate answer, it was all part of their give-and-take.

"Damn it, Chris, are you ever going to tell me what did bring you here?"

"Patience is a virtue, Phil." The smirk on his face said pride had been satisfied all around, and he knew full well Phil had meant it that way.

"Seems Jim has met your cadet. It looks to me like the beginning of a long and mutually profitable association. At least, they staggered off in roughly the same direction once I was through with them." Pike chuckled, "Jim tried to pretend he wasn't feeling anything. McCoy was considerably more vocal in his disapproval."

"I'll bet."

Leonard H. McCoy had never learned to keep his damn mouth shut; whether that would be a blessing or a curse Phil hadn't really determined yet, but seeing as he'd somehow managed to survive three years of the academy on his own despite frequently stepping on all the wrong toes, perhaps it didn't really matter. Phil flattered himself that it had something to do with all the work he and Pike had done constructing the frightened kid's reputation until he'd grown into enough of a man to perpetuate the myth.

"Funny isn't it, how some stories always seem to repeat themselves."

Chris caught his eyes, gaze filled with memories. Phil drew some small comfort in the gesture; Chris would forgive him for the little betrayal he was about to execute, in time.

Over twenty years now he'd stood beside this man; they had watched each other's backs during those first couple years at the academy- just a couple dumb kids looking for the fastest way to get off this dying planet and willing to do nearly anything to make they wouldn't be left behind. Boyce knew McCoy would never believe him if he ever imparted some of his stories from the old days; McCoy had a hard time conceiving of the mindless brutality of his fellow cadets even now, he would never believe there could have been a time when Starfleet was even more savage and less principled.

He'd never believe that somehow Medical's least-promising cadet had stepped off a transport already fast friends with a remarkably ambitious command-track cadet determined to leave a mark on Starfleet academy that would not soon be forgotten.

When Chris had been assigned as a lieutenant aboard his first ship, Phil had called in every last favor he was owed to be sure he'd be serving in the infirmary, waiting for the inevitable disaster sure to befall the brash, young hothead that had been Christopher Pike.

When the tables had turned and Phil found himself choking on his own blood, stranded on some backwater planet with no other company than the unforgiving natives, it had been Chris that beamed back down against orders to haul his dying ass out. It was years before Phil learned exactly what that had cost him, and to this day he wished he hadn't.

Finally, when Chris tired of taking orders from a captain more suited to terrorizing his own crew than the empire's enemies, it had been Phil that quietly disposed of the fool and his corpse, leaving Chris to 'negotiate' with his new first officer.

Now he had to tell Chris to watch his own back because Philip Boyce wouldn't be there to do it for him anymore.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me, Phil?" Chris leaned back in his chair, elegantly crossing one leg over the other for all the world as if he had nothing to fear. In this office at least, he didn't.

"I've received another offer of promotion; the turnover rate for admirals is through the roof these days. All this new blood is sparking a return to old values." Pike's gimlet stare never wavered.

"I'm taking it, Chris. I'm staying here. You need to find yourself a CMO for that ship that you know you can trust; I recommend you find a place for McCoy in your sickbay. He's a stubborn ass, but if it gets bad enough, he can be as mean as the rest of them. Usually smarter about it, too."

"_You_ are my CMO, Phil."

"Not this time, Chris. I'm grounded. Permanently. I've had it and I'm bowing out; this would be my third time turning down a very generous offer and I don't want the fallout that would come with it."

Chris didn't speak, only poured himself another glass of brandy, swirling it thoughtfully. "Damn it, Chris, you're ruining my good brandy. Knock it back already."

"Without even a toast to the Imperial fleet's newest admiral?" Phil flinched at the bitter undertone, maintaining eye contact with effort.

"We both knew this was coming. From the very first time admiral Archer contacted me, you had to know it was only a matter of time before I accepted."

Pike snorted, shaking his head despairingly; "This soon, though; I wasn't prepared for that. Another year and the Enterprise will be ready for her maiden voyage; I suppose I thought it would be a little like old times with me on the bridge and you…" He smiled sharply, "On the bridge when you were supposed to be in sickbay."

"Someone had to keep an eye out for you. One hardly ever took her eyes off that chair, or you."

"That woman…" Pike smiled fondly, "She would have been the death of me eventually."

"She knew killing you was the fastest way to ensure she'd never sit in that chair. She would've woken up in hell the same night, and you know it."

"But it's enough now to give in just so you can rise in the ranks? You're going to stay shackled behind one of these desks forever, or until some upstart captain decides an admiral's desk looks pretty damn comfy from where he's standing? I won't be here to convince the bastards otherwise this time; if you think I'll give up my last chance at the black just to cover your ass then you have dangerously overestimated our-"

"Association?" Phil supplied acidly. "I did not ask you to stay, Chris. I'm saying you should recognize an opportunity when it falls into your lap. You'll have an admiral indebted to you; it's no small accomplishment. I'm telling you, take McCoy aboard, do what you will with Kirk. Build that perfect crew you've been talking about for the last decade and staff Starfleet's finest ship. Another decade or so and you'll have the admiralty at your beck and call."

"We'll neither one of us see another ten years." Pike pushed himself up from the chair, pacing over to the small window just behind Phil's desk. "Kirk, though; that kid has a fire in him. It's something I haven't seen the like of since-"

"You last looked in the mirror?"

A short bark of laughter, genuine humor crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes; it was an expression Boyce hadn't seen often enough these last few years.

"Not like this, Phil. Never like this. Jim looks at this hellhole like a dying man would his last meal; he wants this chance; he loves this shit-show because he knows he'll always be the last man standing. It's in his blood- it's what he's good at."

"You never had much of a problem with this 'hellhole' either, as I recall. Hell, Chris, the cadets look at you like you're the academy incarnate even now."

"Guess I'm just getting old then; I've lost my taste for it."

Suddenly Boyce could see the weight of the years settling on his shoulders, heavier than it had been even a month ago and growing harder to bear with every passing day. It happened to all of them eventually; blood lust and avarice gave way to weariness and boredom once it became obvious the vicious cycle was never-ending. There was nothing to be gained that hadn't already been achieved many times before; there was simply no place for excellence within the fleet any longer, and Pike had never been a man to settle for mediocrity.

"There is nothing new under the sun." Boyce murmured. Damn McCoy and his endless supply of old sayings; they were every bit as contagious as some of the more virulent fevers Boyce had dealt with in his checkered career… and much more annoying.

Pike turned back, nodding. "Not under _this_ sun. Not for us, at least."

An uncomfortable silence descended; there had been entirely too much unvarnished truth spoken in the last half-hour, and too much emotion beneath it. Even Chris was fidgeting minutely, though it took a practiced eye to spot the careful way he was adjusting the cut of his uniform.

"Kirk then, and McCoy. You'll take what I said under advisement?"

"Puri has a prior claim, but you know better than to think I would leave that smug bastard here. We've worked too long and too hard to throw away our chips now." Chris set his glass down solidly, "I'm relieved Jim found him this soon. More accurately, that he found Jim. There's a chance for genuine greatness there; I couldn't leave potential like that rotting away in some hick-town, but I'm not sure the academy was ready for the reality of Jim Kirk yet. McCoy should be able to keep him tied down for a bit."

Phil laughed aloud, "This academy survived you well enough; I still remember some of the hare-brained stunts we pulled. If you could make it through your academy days without getting cooked in the booth, I'm sure some Iowa farm boy can manage it."

"We'll have a couple weeks to find out anyway." The smile that curved Pike's mouth was anything but reassuring.

"Oh? What the hell happens then, Chris?"

"You _are_ getting old, Phil. I had counted on your company this Ostara, but of course you'll want to celebrate with the admirals."

Phil paled, "Not a chance. I know the sick games cadets can get up to, I played a few of them myself. Combine that infallible instinct for cruelty with an admiral's rank… I'm too damn old to be 'celebrating' the old ways."

Pike chuckled, "I'd cut off the first hand they laid on you. Regardless of rank"

They grinned in perfect complicity, unease evaporating in a split second.

The first time Chris had spoken those words nearly twenty three years ago, Phil had laughed and bid him happy hunting, throwing out a name that meant less than nothing to him. Chris had been an arrogant bastard, and Phil had reckoned it a favor to see to it he got his teeth kicked in early so he wouldn't catch worse later on.

Surprisingly, cadet Michaelson had turned up in Phil's infirmary the following morning, obviously in shock and conspicuously missing his good right hand. As they talked over lunch that afternoon, Chris had very casually inquired whether Michaelson had managed to survive the night and did Phil want him to take the other hand just to be sure he got the point across? They had shared a laugh over Michaelson's impending discharge and made plans in case his friends ever came knocking.

Phil had personally ensured that none of them ever would. It was the least he could do after all the trouble Chris had gone to making sure Michaelson's wound wouldn't prove fatal.

"Just like old times. I'm sure there will be fresher meat than a couple old buzzards though. Here's hoping it doesn't turn out to be our boys."

In silence they each poured one final glass, toasting their hopes for the future.

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Three hours after his miserable appointment with Pike, Len could swear he still felt the agony of all that concentrated energy racing just beneath his skin. Every move was torture, every footstep sent shuddering hints of pain through him and yet somehow he was still going to complete a full day of classes and take another shift in the clinic to cover for M'Benga.

Leonard McCoy's mood was decidedly less than charitable, and it took a turn for the worse when he caught sight of Jim in the caf that afternoon, bright-eyed and chipper as he spoke with a petite brunette Len was certain he'd never seen in the clinic.

If anything, Kirk seemed to have fed on his own suffering this morning, taking a savage joy in holding back every grunt and curse that Leonard gladly voiced, if only to see the annoyance written plainly on Chris Pike's face. There was no reason they shouldn't all suffer a bit, after all, and he was still bitter over his lack of sleep.

Jim had been a little stiff when at last Pike had allowed them to step down, but he still managed to tip a wink and a nod to Pike that should have earned him an hour more. He'd even gone so far as to offer a hand to Leonard, smiling crookedly at the suspicious grimace he'd received for his thoughtfulness.

Leonard H. McCoy could walk on his own damn legs thank you very much, and he didn't want to know what those hands had been up to last night if Kirk hadn't turned up at his own dorm even once.

Pike had observed their brief interaction with something like approval, and that in and of itself was nearly enough to convince Leonard he must be insane for even thinking of recruiting Kirk as an ally of any sort. Trouble was, he was in no position to turn away even one offer of assistance; Quid Pro Quo might as well have been the official motto of the fleet academy, and while Len had taken pains to ensure that he had friends in the Medical division, his command-track connections were few and far between. Given the kind of maniac that was drawn to the command track, he'd always preferred it that way.

Kirk was different; for one thing, he had laid off his psychotic attack with a little rough urging, and for another, he'd been the first to suggest a mutually profitable partnership.

Usually the command cadets exchanged what few brains they had for an extra helping of brawn and pure greed; they had to be shown the benefits of forming connections and taught the consequences of meddling with other faculties. Kirk had seen the way the wind blew from no more than a brief tussle and few minutes conversation; he hadn't been ashamed to make it known either.

Jim was a little rough around the edges, but no more vicious than any of the other cadets hacking and slashing their way to a captain's chair.

Leonard couldn't believe he had actually fallen so far as to consider this; for years now he'd done his best to avoid playing the political games most other cadets seemed to glory in. He pulled as many extra shifts in the infirmary as he could and tried not to take anyone's side in particular when the inevitable fights broke out. It had helped that somehow-Len suspected a smug Philip Boyce had something to do with it- his record had leaked, and most of the faculty assumed a man that had gone so far as to skin his own father wold have no problem turning the blade against his fellows.

They were so far off the mark it would have been comical if it weren't so damn useful; when Leonard said settle down there wasn't a cadet on campus that would dare to talk back, but Len found that even after everything he'd seen and done, the endless creativity of some of these monsters could still perturb him.

Humans were predators, that was fact; you couldn't blame them for acting according to nature. So far though, Humans were the only predators Leonard had ever encountered that would risk their own well-being to inflict damage purely for sport and think nothing of it, even praise the behavior when it manifested in others.

It was almost enough to make a man re-evaluate his convictions. Almost.

Sometimes the only consideration keeping him from bloody murder was the knowledge that as of this moment none of his peers knew what he might or might not be capable of, and none of them wanted to push him too hard and find out. He was safe because he was unpredictable, show his colors even once and his neutrality could no longer be maintained. In the end, he would lose because most of them clung far more determinedly to life than he.

Not one of them had a boundary they had resolved not to cross, and Len was painfully aware of the price he would pay if he allowed those painstakingly drawn lines to dictate his actions. And how much more it could cost him if he didn't.

His scruples might well become too problematic later; if he spent too much time in Kirk's company, it would be seen as taking sides. Then he would have the choice of playing angel of death for Kirk in exchange for equal loyalty or saying fuck it and just seeing where his mangled corpse washed up when he pushed the boundaries too far. Assuming there was enough of him left to toss in the bay.

Still, Leonard had come to the academy knowing he couldn't maintain his neutrality forever, that sooner or later some enterprising young jackass was going to come along and force him to act decisively one way or the other. When that happened, it would be wise to have someone on standby that owed him a favor or two. He stood in a better bargaining position if that ally had first approached him in hopes of an entente rather than the reverse.

Kirk was a first-year; he had all the ambition the fleet so loved to cultivate in its members and enough sense to realize academy life would be an entirely new battlefield than the one he was used to playing on. That gave Leonard the advantage of experience, and imparting that hard-earned wisdom would earn him credit toward future favors.

Much as he hated to play this game, he knew the rules well. With that thought in mind, he stood and made his way over to Kirk's table, resolutely ignoring the way the rest of the crowd very pointedly avoided looking in his direction. They were so careful not to look that it was clear the majority were downright gawking.

Unpredictability. Len felt an entirely undesirable stab of exultation; he had made a late entrance to this rat race, but strategy was the key to victory.

Jim glanced up warily when Len paused beside his bench, uneasy now that his initial wave of frustrated rebellion had passed. Returning to the other table to eat in peace would send the wrong message; he couldn't afford to turn back. Just as he opened his mouth to ask if he might sit, Jim's calculating look dissolved into a dazzling smile that sparked a telling light in his eyes.

That smile was so perfectly open it gave Leonard a chill to see it; anyone that could smile like that before so many potential threats was either too stupid or too dangerous to live. Only time would tell which category Jim Kirk would fall into.

"Bones, sit."

It was an invitation rather than order, but the tone said plainly Jim wasn't used to having his invitations declined; it hardly mattered, that was precisely what Leonard had hoped for. He'd teach the kid to ask nicely later… trouble was, Kirk didn't so much as budge by a half inch to give him a little space. Either he'd have to practically sit halfway on the kid's lap or risk sliding off the bench to the floor.

_Damnation._

Gingerly Leonard set his tray down, grumbling under his breath as he shoved Jim relentlessly aside to make room, just enough that he was pressed hip to hip with Kirk. Len could swear he felt Jim's malicious satisfaction in every line of his body. In these close quarters he could do serious damage to vital organs with a little help from his utensils; he was almost tempted to suggest as much to Kirk just to see if he would twitch at all.

"Bones, this is Marla. Marla-" Jim rested a proprietary hand on his arm and Len nearly leapt out of his seat at the unexpected contact, "Bones."

Good _gods_, Jim was spreading that damn name; Len had hoped it might evaporate with the morning dew, but it seemed it was going to be a recurring pet name between them if he didn't speak up. "Marla", if she was given her proper name rather than something Jim had made up, was smirking knowingly and Leonard didn't like that cunning look in her eyes at all.

"I'm not your fucking pet, Jim. You don't get to name me." Jim grinned across at Marla; he might as well have said aloud, See? My pet even knows tricks. What else could he have expected from one of Pike's recruits anyway? Definitely too stupid to live, but perhaps his first official visit to sickbay would show him how little most med-cadets thought of their command-track counterparts. McCoy was willing to volunteer for the duty if no one else had a prior claim.

"Marla was just telling me how the academy chooses to honor festival days."

"Depends on your rank, specialization and sanity. Or lack thereof." Leonard growled, shifting away from Jim's surprisingly sharp elbow.

The brunette shot him a considering look that instantly put him on guard. "As a first year, you're expected to participate, but if I were you I'd give serious consideration to coming down with something catching."

"Festivals are a privilege-"

"Sure, if you've collected enough favors to enjoy them. If not, you're better off avoiding it." Len caught the girl's eyes and held them; damn these younger cadets for taking everything as a personal challenge.

"I never miss a festival." Jim said flatly, chewing like he had an enemy's throat between his teeth. Leonard hadn't missed those sharp canines only just exposed by his smile; were a Human's teeth even supposed to be so pointed? Len was pretty sure Jim could cut his tongue on that edge.

"You might want to make an exception for this one-"

"Cadets are required to participate." Deep, calming breaths. Mustn't slaughter the stupid child before lunch, it wouldn't be sporting and would probably put him off his appetite.

"In the _observance_ of the festival, not necessarily the rites connected to it." He knew academy guidelines every which way; like any half-clever cadet, he'd taken a year or so to test the waters and see which could be broken and which were immutable.

Marla frowned, opening her mouth to deliver what would doubtless be another comment betraying her absolute witlessness, and just as quickly shut it. That was seldom a good sign.

"I suppose the rites could prove a little distressing for the spineless milksops that gravitate toward the medical faculty."

Jim shot a sideways look in Len's direction, checking to see what his reaction would be. He couldn't very well let that sort of challenge go unanswered; word would get around very quickly and then might find himself dragged into a feud he wanted no part of.

He chuckled, choking back his first impulse to shout her down; confidence was a quiet virtue, "Give it a few years, darlin'. Either you'll get tired of these children's games like I have, or one of us _spineless milksops_ will cut you open and conveniently forget to close you up again."

Jim didn't look like he approved; neither did the little slip of a girl. Of course Kirk would find the one other kid on campus that hadn't heard a few stories about Leonard McCoy… or worse, one that had and still kept a few stories of her own to tell.

Either way, he was grateful when she began to tidy her tray, shooting him one last considering glance, eyes lingering where he just touched shoulders with Jim; "Maybe I'll see you come Ostara, McCoy."

Fuck. She did know him, and she would be looking too. What the hell had convinced him eating with Kirk would be a good idea anyway? Suddenly he wasn't sure Jim was worth half the trouble this budding acquaintance had already caused him.

"You can't make non-specific threats."

Leonard tensed, "What?"

"Who's 'us'? It's too vague; imply that _you_ will cut her open and hang her out to dry. It's concrete, it's personal, and it's fucking terrifying."

"So you're going to be my instructor now?" Leonard snorted incredulously, "You might try having a look at my record sometime. I've got a few years on you yet."

Jim shrugged, taking another deep draught from his cup. "Teach me whatever little tricks got you this far. I need to know how far the rules can bend, who's who on campus, which instructors are amenable to what sort of bribery- I'll show you how to manage these bastards once you're stuck with them on a ship that will feel a lot smaller when you're shoulder to shoulder with fuckers that won't mind replacing you."

"What makes you think I couldn't manage that on my own?"

"Marla McGivers is support. She's an elitist bitch, but her family doesn't have much influence in Starfleet. If she thinks she can get away with putting you down- and you haven't done much to convince her otherwise yet- then you have a problem. You should have dragged her across the table and cut out her tongue for the insolence."

"Academy rules aren't quite that forgiving. What happens on a cadet's off-time is one thing, so long as it can't be proven, but the veneer of professionalism is very important… most days."

"That's why I need you, Bones."

Jim clapped him on the shoulder roughly, rising from the bench to leave Len alone amongst dozens of wondering eyes.

Fuck it, let them wonder. He finished his meal leisurely and strode out of the hall, already considering the problem of Marla McGivers from every angle his conscience would permit and a few it decidedly wouldn't.


	6. Unforgiven

I'm not going to bother tagging for violence/blood unless it's exceptional; therefore this chapter is tag-free

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"Where the hell is Chapel?" Leonard barked, gloved hands pressed hard into the seeping wound of the boy writhing in agony on his bed. Goddamn fools; it wasn't an hour past noon and they were already getting a start on what should have been evening activities.

All around him cadets whirled, each one at least giving the appearance of being occupied. Not one so much as glanced up at his frustrated shout, too focused on keeping their heads down and hands busy.

"Don't squirm." He snapped, teeth showing in a snarl that was probably far from reassuring; the damn kid was going to kill himself if he kept struggling like this.

Surprisingly, the boy snarled back, pale face regaining some meager hint of color; Len couldn't make out half the words that spilled from his mouth, but he was sure exactly none of them were complimentary. At least the kid was still conscious, it was a step in the right direction.

"Christine! On the double!"

Christine caught his eye as she entered the room, laying aside her PADD with no particular haste. It was both her best and worst quality that nothing could rush the woman; judgment day wouldn't shake that unflappable calmness if the devil himself came for her soul. Leonard had often wondered what sort of demon Roger Korby had been for her to be so confident of her ability to handle anything else.

Of course, she had handled Korby just fine too… until he had inconsiderately cut her throat for reporting his questionable research methods. Eight stitches applied without the aid of another nurse, one horrific scar, and a missing biochemical researcher later Christine liked to jest that his final gift to her had been a 'throaty' voice that could turn any head… but never quite fast enough to catch her before the damage was done.

"Hello, Chekov." She sounded positively cheerful. Len didn't know too many of Chapel's other friends, it was hard to keep track of so many- but this one wasn't exactly living up to Chapel's typical standard of stoic and reclusive. Miracle of miracles, the little beast settled beneath his hands at the sight of her, legs twitching involuntarily with pain but otherwise collected.

"Christine. I-"

Russian. There was an accent Leonard hadn't heard in some time; what sort of infernal deal had the academy struck to secure someone from Moscow's branch?

Christine was already poking at the bare edge of his wound, ignoring the stifled gasp of pain, "How did you-"

"D'you think we could save the small talk until I have this is patched up, or do you want me to give you two some privacy?"

Christine circled the bed, pushing his hands aside to press her own into the bloody mess. "Tyrant." She muttered fondly, smiling at the cadet though his bloodless lips couldn't curve to mimic the expression.

"You're lucky Len's on duty today; M'Benga swears he's never putting you back together again." Christine's voice dipped another register, professional and reassuring.

The little bastard laughed brightly, and Len couldn't help but like him in that moment; it took a special kind of madness to laugh so sincerely when every spasm had to send a bolt of pure agony through him- tears gathered in his eyes, but the emotion was no less genuine.

"I think the doktor has not liked me-"

"Doesn't like you- present tense, I'm sure; don't take it personally, though. Half the doctors here seem to have hypos jammed up their asses; the other half couldn't find their ass with two hands and a map."

More laughter; it was enough to set the hair on Len's neck prickling.

"Think you could move a little faster, McCoy?" Chapel's already ragged voice took on a tone of genuine alarm, smile vanishing between the space of one breath and the next.

"Regen's not working fast enough. Where'd you move the pressure bandages?"

"Left cabinet. Down two drawers."

The smears of blood he left on the cabinet handles would have to be cleaned later, there was no time to be bothered with it now. In fact, since this brat was obviously an acquaintance of Chapel's, she could deal with it.

Len tossed her a bandage from where he knelt on the floor, stripping his soiled gloves from his hands to toss them carelessly in the bin. "Wrap him tight, our first priority is to stop-"

"I know what I'm doing, Leonard." The growl beneath her words had nothing to do with her damaged larynx, he knew. Who the hell was this kid that Chapel would actually give half a damn about him? Normally she was the first to join the betting pool on who would last out their visit to sick bay. He suspected she even interfered directly occasionally to tilt the odds in her favor, and she always bet against recovery.

Chapel eyed her handiwork with muted approval, glancing back to Len with something like pleading in her eyes; "I know it's a madhouse today, but what are the chances you'll exercise some of that third-year authority and take some plasma from Ramsay's stash? All other units are either in use or vanished from the stock. I just took inventory this morning."

Leonard couldn't recall a time she had ever addressed so many words to him at once; normally, Christine had to be coaxed into uttering more than a sentence or two at a time. Despite her jests, he had seen the way she cringed every time her throat refused to work around a syllable; for her to speak this plainly, cadet Chekov had to be someone important to her.

Given the number of times she'd pulled his ass out of the fire without asking a favor in return, conscience dictated he had to look out for her allies too; even if it brought him to Ramsay's attention for the second time in a month. It would have to be today; the one day when Ramsay could settle his score in broad daylight without concerning himself with petty details like punishment. Leonard resigned himself to a long night keeping watch; at least he would have an excuse for failing to participate in the medical faculty's ceremonies.

"I'll start with the regenerator again; bring me your PADD and I'll put in an order-" She was halfway across the room before he'd finished the sentence, and back again before he could do more than set the regenerator to an appropriate level.

"You're going to have to head into his lair yourself, but there's my signature on it for all the good it'll do. Here's to hoping he got an early start on whatever horror he's indulging in today. If not, we're both in for it."

Chapel dipped her head, practically prying the PADD from his fingers in her haste to be gone.

"You're lucky she likes you, kid." Len murmured thoughtlessly, dabbing away some of the filth that had collected at the edge of the gash despite his best efforts.

"Da."

He allowed himself a sigh of relief when the kid slipped into a semi-conscious state; pain killers were heavily rationed today, and he didn't have any extra to spare, even for a friend of a friend.

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It didn't take a genius level intellect to realize the mood on campus was off in some indefinable way; Jim hadn't felt so on edge since that first night at the academy waiting for Hendorff to make his move. It was obvious this was something the senior cadets had been expecting; they were all roaming the grounds in packs, organized in such a way that they could watch every direction at once as they made their way to classes.

Oddly he hadn't seen even one instructor hurrying through the hallways or loitering in the designated portion of the cafeteria when he sat down to breakfast this morning. It was almost as though the entire student body was holding its breath, waiting for some signal before the bloodbath could begin. Jim had no doubt it would be a spectacular sight; McCoy hadn't been terribly forthcoming about what he could expect, but Jim had made a few discrete inquiries here and there, and what he had heard sounded promising.

There was only one small problem- he didn't have a partner. More accurately, his partner was on-shift in the infirmary and didn't yet realize he had a partner. Let the other cadets ally themselves with the brutes and the vandals in some vain hope that it would frighten away their enemies; Jim welcomed the chance to acquaint himself with any rivals lurking in the wings, but it would be useful to have a medic on hand in case of accident.

Even if that medic was as likely to look after Jim's enemies as he was Jim himself.

Despite the lack of senior staff over breakfast, every last one of his instructors was present in tutorials that afternoon; none of them seemed particularly bothered by the tension that gripped their students. Smug bastards all of them, and Jim hoped they had their own special traditions surrounding Ostara, something that would wipe the comfortably indulgent smiles from their faces.

The moment his final class was dismissed, Jim made straight for Medical; he'd remarked the absence of any med-cadets even in the mandatory combat simulations. With their compound as dark and quiet as the empty dorms reserved for other students, reason said most of them were either tending to personal affairs in a quiet corner removed from sight, or pulling an extra shift where they were most needed.

Bones would be one of the latter, Jim would have been willing to stake his last credit on it. Dedicated observation had shown firstly that McCoy had very few enemies to speak of, and a disproportionate number of allies outside his faculty ranging from administrative staff to cadets. His record was by and large clean, with the exception of an incident that had apparently resulted in a colleague being discharged from the academy. That was something he would have to inquire about, once Bones was comfortable with him; there were few things considered heinous enough to merit dismissal unless it was treason and that inevitably carried a penalty of death- execution to be summarily carried out by the ranking officer.

One last, very telling detail had caught Jim's eye: Bones took on more hours in sickbay than were strictly required of a third year cadet, had done since his first year in fact. He also had the lowest mortality rate among his peers.

It was not necessarily wise to be the best in one's faculty; even these past few weeks Jim had watched while the cadets holding the highest ranks in combat simulations were crippled by freak accidents. Some healed and continued on their way, careful not to outshine the other cadets quite so well again. Others left the academy for good; the 'Fleet discarded its worn-out equipment quickly, be it scraps or failures.

Jim was willing to bet the Medical faculty was no less ruthless than Command track, only more prone to solving their difficulties internally; that beggared the question of how exactly someone so determinedly involved as Bones had managed to evade a comeuppance more serious than a few hours in the booth for minor infractions.

Privately he hoped the answer was something more interesting than arresting hazel eyes and a mouth made for sin; plenty of cadets worked out their differences on their knees, it was one of the quicker ways of assuring a brief reprieve, but he hoped Bones was more resourceful than to allow anyone to trap him into it.

Pike had him slated for duty aboard the Enterprise, that took more than a handsome face, it took more than talent too. As the future flagship of the Imperial fleet, Pike wouldn't be recruiting anyone but the most cunning and ambitious cadets. Jim intended to be one of them, and if Bones were going to be in sickbay, he had to have something going for him beside the obvious as well.

Now if only he could attach himself to Bones long enough to figure out what that ephemeral quality was, maybe he could find the reason for his own unnatural preoccupation with McCoy.

!

!

* * *

!

Leonard flipped his scalpel idly from hand to hand, one eye fixed on the battered kid still sleeping off his injuries in the corner. Cadet Pavel Chekov, first year, command track with navigational specialization and a history of violence long enough that Len hadn't bothered going back more than half a year. He wasn't any older than Len himself had been when the 'Fleet first hooked their claws in him, but at least Boyce had given him a few years to grow up before tossing him into this pit.

Not that Chekov was having any difficulties adjusting; in the few weeks since his arrival he hadn't once been delivered to Medical's care, though a non-invasive scan had indicated wounds healed as recently as a week ago. Smart of him to keep an ace tucked away; likely he'd been doing favors for Chapel in exchange for odds and ends that she could spirit away while making her rounds of the inventory.

Interesting crop they had brought in this year; usually the first month was a culling period, a quarter of the new cadets either turning up corpses or discharged before they could break. The stupid ones were always the first to go, the ones that talked instead of listening, the ones that bragged of their connections against the advice of their advisers; the next were the weak ones, the ones that sicked up after that first traditional combat sim the night of their arrival.

Len hadn't heard of any of this year's cadets making any such novice mistakes. He'd been braced for the inevitable line of battered, broken cadets and found exactly two: Hendorff and this little spitfire. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved that so few required his services, or terrified that so many of the first-years walking campus now already had the approval of their superiors. It would make this Ostara one to remember, that was certain- put a bunch of ambitious, cutthroat kids together and give them a holiday dedicated to vengeance or sick pranks and blood was bound to be shed. Especially when the older cadets got it into their heads to give the first-years a proper welcome and found themselves made victims instead.

Only after the first rush this morning, the infirmary had been eerily quiet. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Len had taken these hours of peace to look in on the only first-year still confined to a bed until further notice.

Catching the flicker of an eyelid from the corner of his eye, Leonard caught the scalpel carefully, sliding it into the sheathe at his wrist. Chekov's eyes followed the blade from beneath hooded lids almost as though he were mesmerized.

"Don't let me catch you tryin' this. You'll cut your fingers off, and damned if I'll waste my time patching up a fool."

Silence.

Leonard sighed heavily, "The sooner you admit you're awake, the sooner I c'n leave."

Cautiously, the boy shifted his leg aside, likely preparing to bolt if Leonard jumped him. He didn't bother to offer comforting reassurances; the kid wouldn't believe him anyway.

"Why am I still here?"

"Funny thing. Looks like you've been treating your own wounds for a while now; I need to know how you got your hands on the supplies to do it."

That innocent widening of the eyes was fooling no one, but if the kid wanted to play coy-

"'S Christine, in't it? What's the catch?" He tried for a coaxing smile, received a flat stare in return.

'Quid Pro Quo' might as well have been the official motto of the academy, but there were some transactions Len wasn't willing to let pass during his watch. Using a kid, even a decidedly precocious one, in the psychotic games some sick fucks thought were good fun was one such sin. He would string Chapel up personally if Chekov said she'd been using him for her dirty work.

"I think I would like not to tell you." His smile was all teeth and colder than the frozen climate he presumably hailed from. "But if Christine says, I will."

The door hissed open before Leonard could press harder; he couldn't help a sigh of relief when Christine herself stepped in- he'd just as soon not bully the kid while he was still off his feet. Her pinched features were enough to quell his relief. Pale but composed, lips pursed in a moue of distaste; for Christine, that was a decent indicator that he wasn't going to like what she had to say at all.

"Ramsay found out." She rasped. "I think you will need to deal with him today, Len."

!

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This is going to be the last update for awhile, I have exams that won't pass themselves. :)

Next chapter will conclude the prologue.


End file.
